iV€R  TH^OCKY 
^     MOUNTAINS 

ALASKA 


CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 


6*^ 


C  ^ 


aHjf 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains 
to  Alaska. 


BY 


CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD. 


uj>r-j6 


ST.  LOUIS,  MO.,  1899. 
Published  by  B.  HERDER, 

17  South  Broadway. 


Santa  Barbara,  Califoriii* 


Copyright,   1899,  by  Joseph  Gummersbach. 


>**-«. 


'%ry^> 


*^^< 


— BECKTOLD— 

PRINTING  AND  BOOK  MFG.  CO. 
ST.  LOUIS   MO. 


To 
KENNETH  O'CONNOR, 

First-District-of-Columbia  Volunteers, 
Geu'l  Shafter's  Fifth  Army  Corps, 

Santiago  de  Cuba: 

In  Memory  of  Oue  'Home-Life  in 

The  Bungalow. 


NOTE. 

The  Author  returns  thanks  to  the  Editor  of  the 
Ave  Maria  for  the  privilege  of  republishing  these 
notes  of  travel  and  adventure. 


CONTENTS. 

Chapter.  ^*^^- 

I.  Due  West  to  Denver    -    -    -      7 

II.  In  Denver  Town    -    -    -     -      18 

III.  The  Garden  of  the  Gods  -     -    29 

IV.  A  Whirl  across  the  Rockies       40 
V.     Off  for  Alaska 47 

VI.  In  the  Inland  Sea       -     -    -      56 

VII.  Alaskan  Village  Life    -    -    -    66 

VIII.     Juneau -       74 

IX.  By  Solitary  Shores       -    -    -    86 

X.  In  Search  of  the  Totem-Pole    98 

XI.  In  the  Sea  of  Ice     -    -     -     -  HI 

XII.  Alaska's  Capital    -    -    -    -    124 

XIII.  Katalan's  Rock       -    -     -     -  136 

XIV.  From  the  Far  North  -    -    -     148 
XV.  Out  of  the  Arctic    -    -    -    -  159 


Chapter  I. 
Due  West  to  Denver. 


COMMENCEMENT    week     at    Notie 
^  Dame  ended  in  a  blaze  of  glory.    Mul- 
titudes of  guests  who  liad  been  camping 
foi  a  nigbt  or  two  in  the  recitation  rooms 
-our  temporary  dormitories-gave  them- 
selves up  to  the  boyish  delights  of  school- 
Ufe,  and  set  numerous  exainpLe%^,^^^^^ 
the  students  were  only  too  glad  to  follow. 
The  boat  race  on  the  lake  was  a  pictnie; 
the  champion   baseball  match     a  com- 
panion piece;  but  the  highly  decorated 
^rize  scholars,  glittering  with  gold  and 
Silver  medals,  and  badges  of  satin  and 
bullion:  the  bevies  of  beautiful  girls  who 
^l,  once  -  once  only  in  the  year  -  were 
^ven  the  liberty  of  the  lawns,  the  campus 
Ld  the  winding  forest  ways,_  that  make 
of  Notre  Dame  an  elysium  m  summer; 
the  frequent  and  inspiring  blasts  ot  the 
University  Band,  and  the  general  ]oy  that 
filled  every  heart  to  overflowing,  rendered 
the  last  day  of  the  scholastic  year  romantic 
to  a  degree  and  memorable  torever. 
(7) 


8    Over  Die  Hocky  ^fountains  to  Alaska. 

There  was  no  sleep  during  the  closing 
night  —  not  one  solitary  wink ;  all  laws 
were  dead-letters  —  alas  that  they  should 
so  soon  arise  again  from  the  dead! — and 
when  the  wreath  of  stars  that  crowns  the 
golden  statue  of  Our  Lady  on  the  high 
dome,  two  hundred  feet  in  air,  and  the 
mde-sweeping  crescent  under  her  shining 
feet,  burst  suddenly  into  flame,  and  shed 
a  lustre  that  was  welcomed  for  miles  and 
miles  over  the  plains  of  Indiana — then,  I 
assure  you,  we  were  all  so  deeply  touched 
that  we  knew  not  whether  to  laugh  or  to 
weep,  and  I  shall  not  tell  you  which  we 
did.  The  moon  was  very  full  that  night, 
and  I  didn't  blame  it! 

But  the  picnic  really  began  at  the  foot 
of  the  great  stairway  in  front  of  the  dear 
old  University  next  morning.  Five  hun- 
dred possible  presidents  were  to  be  dis- 
tributed broadcast  over  the  continent; 
five  hundred  sons  and  heirs  to  be  returned 
with  thanks  to  the  yearning  bosoms  of 
their  respective  families.  The  floodgates 
of  the  trunk-rooms  were  thrown  open ,  and 
a  stream  of  Saratogas  went  thundering  to 
the  station  at  South  Bend,  two  miles 
away.  Hour  after  hour,  and  indeed  for 
several  days,  huge  trucks  and  express 
wagons  phed  to  and  fro,  groaning  under 


Over  the  Rochy  Moimtains  to  Alaska.    9 

the  burden  of  well-checked  luggage.  It 
is  astonishing  to  behold  how  big  a  trunk 
a  mere  boy  may  claim  for  his  very  own ; 
but  it  must  be  remembered  that  your 
schoolboy  lives  for  several  years  within 
the  brass-bound  confines  of  a  Saratoga. 
It  is  his  bureau,  his  wardrobe,  his  private 
library,  his  museum  and  toy  shop,  the 
receptacle  of  all  that  is  near  and  dear  to 
him ;  it  is,  in  brief,  his  sanctum  sanctorum, 
the  one  inviolate  spot  in  his  whole  scho- 
lastic career  of  which  he,  and  he  alone, 
holds  the  key. 

We  came  down  with  the  tide  in  the  rear 
of  the  trunk  freshet.  The  way  being  more 
or  less  clear,  navigation  was  declared 
open.  The  next  moment  saw  a  proces- 
sion of  chariots,  semi-circus  wagons  and 
barouches  filled  with  homeward-bound 
schoolboys  and  their  escorts,  dashing  at 
a  brisk  trot  toward  the  railroad  station. 
Banners  were  flying,  shouts  rent  the  air ; 
familiar  forms  in  cassock  and  biretta 
waved  benedictions  from  all  points  of 
the  compass ;  while  the  gladness  and  the 
sadness  of  the  hour  were  perpetuated  by 
the  aid  of  instantaneous  photography. 
The  enterprising  kodaker  caught  us  on 
the  fly,  just  as  the  special  train  was  leav- 
ing South  Bend  for  Chicago ;  a  train  that 


10    Over  the  BocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

was  not  to  be  dismembered  or  its  exclu- 
siveness  violated  until  it  had  been  run  in- 
to the  station  at  Denver. 

After  this  last  negaiive  attack  we  were 
set  free.  Vacation  had  begun  in  good 
earnest.  "What  followed,  think  you? 
Mutual  congratulations,  flirtations  and 
fumigations  without  ceasing;  for  there 
was  much  lost  time  to  be  made  up,  and 
here  was  a  golden  opportunity.  0  you 
who  have  been  a  schoolboy  and  lived  for 
months  and  months  in  a  pent-up  Utica, 
where  the  glimpse  of  a  girl  is  as  welcome 
and  as  rare  as  a  sunbeam  in  a  cellar,  you 
can  imagine  how  the.two  hours  and  forty- 
five  minutes  were  improved — and  Chicago 
eighty  miles  away.  It  is  true  we  all 
turned  for  a  moment  to  catch  a  last 
glimpse  of  the  University  dome,  tower- 
ing over  the  treetops;  and  we  felt  very 
tenderly  toward  everyone  there.  But 
there  were  "sweet  girl  graduates"  on 
board;  and,  as  you  know  well  enough,  it 
required  no  laureate  to  sing  their  praises, 
though  he  has  done  so  with  all  the  gush 
and  fervor  of  youth. 

It  was  summer.  "It  is  always  summer 
where  they  are,"  some  youngster  was 
heard  to  murmur.  But  it  was  really  the 
summer  solstice,  or  very  near  it.     The 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    11 

pond-lilies  were  ripe;  bushels  of  them 
were  heaped  upon  the  platforms  at  every 
station  we  came  to ;  and  before  the  first 
stage  of  our  journey  was  far  advanced  the 
girls  were  sighing  over  lapfuls  of  lilies, 
and  the  lads  tottering  under  the  weight 
of  stupendous  houtonnieres. 

As  we  drew  near  the  Lake  City,  the 
excitement  Aasibly  increased.  Here,  there 
were  partings,  and  such  sweet  sorrow  as 
poets  love  to  sing.  It  were  vain  to  tell 
how  many  promises  were  then  and  there 
made,  and  of  course  destined  to  be  bro- 
ken ;  how  everybody  was  to  go  and  spend 
a  happy  season  with  everybody  or  at  least 
somebody  else,  and  to  write  meanwhile 
without  fail.  There  were  good-byes  again 
and  again,  and  yet  again ;  and,  with  much 
mingled  emotion,  we  settled  ourselves  in 
luxurious  seats  and  began  to  look  dreamily 
toward  Denver. 

In  the  mazes  of  the  wonderful  city  of 
Chicago  we  saw  the  warp  of  that  endless 
steel  web  over  which  we  flew  like  spiders 
possessed.  The  sunken  switches  took 
our  eye  and  held  it  for  a  time.  But  a 
greater  marvel  was  the  man  with  the  cool 
head  and  the  keen  sight  and  nerves  of 
iron,  who  sat  up  in  his  loft,  with  his  hand 
on  a  magic  wand,  and  played  with  train- 


12    Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

fills  of  his  f ellowmen — a  mere  question  of 
life  or  death  to  be  answered  over  and  over 
again ;  played  with  them  as  the  conjurer 
tosses  his  handful  of  pretty  globes  into 
the  air  and  catches  them  without  one 
cUck  of  the  ivories.  It  was  a  forcible 
reminder  of  Clapham  Junction ;  the  per- 
fect system  that  brings  order  out  of  chaos, 
and  saves  a  little  world,  but  a  mad  one, 
from  the  total  annihilation  that  threatens 
it  every  moment  in  the  hour,  and  every 
hour  in  the  day,  and  every  day  in  the 
year. 

It  did  not  take  us  long  to  discover  the 
advantages  of  our  special-car  system. 
There  were  nigh  fifty  of  us  housed  in  a 
brace  of  excursion  cars.  In  one  of  these 
—  the  parlor  —  the  only  stationary  seats 
were  at  the  two  ends,  while  the  whole 
floor  was  covered  with  easj^-chairs  of 
every  conceivable  pattern.  The  dining 
car  was  in  reahty  a  cardroom  between 
meals — and  s^lcll  meals,  for  we  had  stocked 
the  larder  ourselves.  Everj^where  the 
agents  of  the  several  lines  made  their 
appearance  and  greeted  us  cordially ;  they 
were  closeted  for  a  few  moments  with  the 
shepherd  of  our  flock,  Father  Zahm,  of 
the  University  of  Notre  Dame,  Indiana; 
then  they  would  take  a  bite  with  us  —  a 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    13 

dish  of  berries  or  an  ice,  —  for  they  in- 
variably accompanied  us  down  the  road  a 
few  miles ;  and  at  last  would  bid  us  fare- 
well with  a  flattering  figure  of  speech, 
which  is  infinitely  preferable  to  the  tra- 
ditional ''Tickets,  please;  tickets!  " 

At  every  town  and  village  crowds  came 
down  to  see  us.  We  were  e^ddently 
objects  of  interest.  Even  the  nimble 
reporter  was  on  hand,  and  looked  with 
a  not  unkindly  eye  upon  the  lads  who 
were  celebrating  the  first  hours  of  the 
vacation  with  an  enthusiasm  which  had 
been  generating  for  some  weeks.  There 
was  such  a  making  up  of  beds  when,  at 
dark,  the  parlor  and  dining  cars  were 
transformed  into  long,  narrow  dormito- 
ries, and  the  boys  paired  off,  two  and  two, 
above  and  below,  through  the  length  of 
our  fljing  university,  and  made  a  night 
of  it,  without  fear  of  notes  or  detentions, 
and  with  no  prefect  stalking  ghosthke  in 
their  midst. 

It  would  be  hard  to  say  which  we  found 
most  diverting,  the  long,  long  landscape 
that  di^^.ded  as  we  passed  through  it  and 
closed  up  in  the  rear,  leaving  only  the 
shining  iron  seam  down  the  middle;  the 
beautiful,  undulating  prairie  land;  the 
hot  and  dusty  desolation  of  the  plains ; 


14    Over  the  Rochy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

the  delicious  temperature  of  the  high- 
lands, as  we  approached  the  Rockies  and 
had  our  first  glimpse  of  Pike's  Peak  in 
its  mantle  of  snow:  the  muddy  rivers, 
along  whose  shores  we  ghded  swiftly 
hour  after  hour:  the  Mississippi  by  moon- 
light— we  all  sat  up  to  see  that — or  the 
Missouri  at  Kansas  City,  where  we  began 
to  scatter  our  brood  among  their  far 
Western  homes.  At  La  Junta  we  said 
good-bye  to  the  boys  bound  for  Mexico 
and  the  Southwest.  It  was  like  a  second 
closing  of  the  scholastic  year ;  the  good- 
byes were  now  ringing  fast  and  furious. 
Jolly  fellows  began  to  grow  grave  and 
the  serious  ones  more  solemn ;  for  there 
had  been  no  cloud  or  shadow  for  three 
rollicking  days. 

To  be  sure  there  was  a  kind  of  infantile 
cyclone  out  on  the  plains,  memorable  for 
its  superb  atmospheric  effects,  and  the 
rapidity  with  which  we  shut  down  the 
windows  to  keep  from  being  inflated 
balloon-fashion.  And  there  was  a  brisk 
hail-storm  at  the  gate  of  the  Rockies  that 
peppered  us  smartly  for  a  few  moments. 
Then  there  were  some  boys  who  could 
not  eat  enough,  and  who  turned  from  the 
dessert  in  tearful  dismay ;  and  one  little 
kid  who  dived  out  of  the  top  bunk  in  a 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    15 

moment  of  rapture,  and  should  have 
broken  his  neck — but  he  didn't! 

We  were  quite  sybaritical  as  to  hours, 
with  breakfast  and  dinner  courses,  and 
mouth-organs  and  cigarettes  and  jam 
between  meals.  Frosted  cake  and  oranges 
were  left  untouched  upon  the  field  after 
the  gastronomical  battles  were  fought  so 
bravely  three  or  four  times  a  day.  Per- 
haps the  pineapples  and  bananas,  and 
the  open  barrel  of  strawberries,  within 
reach  of  all  at  any  hour,  may  account  for 
the  phenomenon. 

Pueblo!  Ah  me,  the  heat  of  that  infer- 
nal junction !  Pueblo,  with  the  stump  of 
its  one  memorable  tree,  or  a  slice  of  that 
stump  turned  up  on  end — to  make  room 
for  a  new  railway-station,  that  could  just 
as  well  have  been  built  a  few  feet  farther 
on, — and  staring  at  you,  with  a  full  broad- 
side of  patent-medicine  placards  trying  to 
cover  its  nakedness.  On  closer  inspection 
we  read  this  legend:  ^'The  tree  that  grew 
here  was  380  years  old;  circumference,  28 
feet;  height,  79  feet;  was  cut  down  June 
25, 1883,  at  a  cost  of  $250."  So  perished, 
at  the  hands  of  an  amazingly  stupid  city 
council,  the  oldest  landmark  in  Colorado. 
Under  the  shade  of  this  cottonwood  Kit 
Carson,   Wild  Bill,    and  many   another 


16    Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

famous  Indian  scout  built  early  camp 
fires.  Near  it,  in  1850,  thirty-six  whites 
vrere  massacred  by  Indians;  upon  one  of 
its  huge  limbs  fourteen  men  were  hanged 
at  convenient  intervals ;  and  it  is  a  pity 
that  the  city  council  did  not  follow  this 
admirable  lead  and  leave  the  one  glory  of 
Pueblo  to  save  it  from  damnation.  It 
afforded  the  only  grateful  shelter  in  this 
furnace  heat;  it  was  the  one  beautiful 
object  in  a  most  unbeautiful  place,  audit 
has  been  razed  to  the  ground  in  memory 
of  the  block-heads  whose  bodies  were  not 
worthy  to  enrich  the  roots  of  it.  Tradi- 
tion adds,  pathetically  enough,  that  the 
grave  of  the  first  white  woman  who  died 
in  that  desert  was  made  beneath  the 
boughs  of  the  ' 'Old  Monarch. ' '  May  she 
rest  in  peace  under  the  merciless  hands  of 
the  baggage-master  and  his  merry  crew ! 
Lightly  lie  the  trunks  that  are  heaped 
over  her  nameless  dust !  Well,  there  came 
a  time  when  we  forgot  Pueblo,  but  we 
never  will  forgive  the  town  council. 

Then  we  hstened  in  vain  at  evening 
for  the  strumming  of  fandango  music  on 
multitudinous  guitars,  as  was  our  custom 
so  long  as  the  muchachos  were  with  us. 
Then  we  played  no  more  progressive 
euchre  games  many  miles  in  length,  and 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    17 

smoked  no  more  together  in  the  ecstasy 
of  unrestraint;  but  watched  and  "waited 
in  vain — for  those  who  were  with  us  were 
no  longer  of  us  for  some  weeks  to  come, 
and  the  mouths  of  the  singers  were 
hushed.  The  next  thing  we  knew  a  city 
seemed  to  spring  suddenly  out  of  the 
plains  —  a  mirage  of  brick  and  mortar  — 
an  oasis  in  the  wilderness,  —  and  we 
realized,  with  a  gasp,  that  we  had  struck 
the  bull's-eye  of  the  Far  West  —  in  other 
words,  Denver! 


-*^^#'^ 


Chaptek  II. 
In  Denver  Town. 

(COLORADO !    What  an  opeu-air  sound 
^    that  word  has!     The  music  of  the 
wind    is  in    it,   and    a   peculiarly  free, 
rhythmical  swing,  suggestive  of  the  swirl- 
ing lariat.     Colorado  is  not,  as  some  con- 
jecture, a  corruption  or  revised  edition  of 
Francisco  Vasquez  de  Coronado,  who  was 
sent  out  by  the  Spanish  Viceroy  of  Mexico 
in  1540  in  search  of  the  seven  cities  of 
Cibola:    it  is  from  the  verb   colorar  — 
colored  red,  or  ruddy — a  name  frequently 
given  to  rivers,  rocks,  and  ra^dnes  in  the 
lower  country.     Nor  do  we  care  to  go 
back  as  far  as  the  sixteenth  century  for 
the  beginning  of  an  enterprise  that  is  still 
very  young  and  possibly  a  little  fresh.    In 
1803  the  IJnited  States  purchased  from 
France  a  vast  territory  for  $15,000,000;  it 
was  then  known  as  Louisiana,  and  that 
purchase  included  the  district  long  re- 
ferred to  as  the  Creat  American  Desert. 
In  1806  Zebulon  Pike  camped  where 
Pueblo  now  stands.    He  was  a  pedestrian. 
One  day  he  started  to  climb  a  peak  whose 
(18) 


Over  the  Rocky  Moimtains  to  Alaska.    19 

shining  summit  had  dazzled  him  from 
the  first ;  it  seemed  to  soar  into  the  very 
heavens,  yet  lie  within  easy  reach  just 
over  the  neighboring  hill.  He  started 
bright  and  early,  with  enthusiasm  in  his 
heart,  determination  in  his  eye,  and  a  cold 
bite  in  his  pocket.  He  went  from  hill  to 
hill,  from  mountain  to  mountain ;  always 
ascending,  satisfied  that  each  height  was 
the  last,  and  that  he  had  but  to  step  from 
the  next  pinnacle  to  the  throne  of  his  am- 
bition. Alas!  the  peak  was  as  far  away 
as  ever,  even  at  the  close  of  the  second 
day,  so  famished,  foot-frozen  and  well- 
nigh  in  extremity,  he  dragged  his  weary 
bones  back  to  camp,  defeated.  That  peak 
bears  his  name  to  this  day,  and  probably 
he  deserves  the  honor  quite  as  much  as 
any  human  molecule  who  godfathers  a 
mountain. 

James  Pursley,  of  Bardstown,  Ky.,  was 
a  greater  explorer  than  Pike ;  but  Pursley 
gives  Pike  much  credit  which  Pike  blush- 
ingly  declines.  The  two  men  were  ex- 
ceptionally well-bred  pioneers.  In  1820 
Colonel  Long  named  a  peak  in  memory 
of  his  explorations.  The  peak  sur\ives. 
Then  came  Greneral  Fremont,  in  1843, 
and  the  discovery  of  gold  near  Denver 
fifteen  years  later;  but  I  believe  Grreen 


20    Over  the  RocTcy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

Russell,  a  G-eorgian,  found  color  earlier 
on  Pike's  Peak. 

Colorado  was  the  outgrowth  of  the 
great  financial  crisis  of  1857.  That  panic 
sent  a  wave  westward, — a  wave  that  over- 
flowed all  the  wild  lands  of  the  wilderness, 
and,  in  most  cases,  to  the  advantage  of 
both  wave  and  wilderness.  Of  course 
there  was  a  gradual  settling  up  or  settling 
down  from  that  period.  Many  people 
who  didn't  exactly  come  to  stay  got  stuck 
fast,  or  found  it  difficult  to  leave;  and 
now  they  are  glad  of  it.  Denver  was  the 
result. 

Denver !  It  seems  as  if  that  should  be 
the  name  of  some  out-of-door  production ; 
of  something  brawny  and  breezy  and 
bounding;  something  strong  with  the 
strength  of  youth ;  overflowing  with  vital- 
ity; ambitions,  unconquerable,  irrepress- 
ible— and  such  is  Denver,  the  queen  city 
of  the  plains.  Denver  is  a  marvel,  and 
she  knows  it.  She  is  by  no  means  the 
marvel  that  San  Francisco  was  at  the 
same  interesting  age;  but,  then,  Denver 
doesn't  know  it;  or,  if  she  knows  it,  she 
doesn't  care  to  mention  it  or  to  hear  it 
mentioned. 

True  it  is  that  the  Argonauts  of  the 
Pacific  were  blown  in  out  of  the  blue  sea 


Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.    21 

—  most  of  them.  They  had  had  a  taste 
of  the  tropics  on  the  way ;  paroquets  and 
Panama  fevers  were  their  portion;  or, 
after  a  long  pull  and  a  strong  pull  around 
the  Horn,  they  were  comparatively  fresh 
and  eager  for  the  fray  when  thej^  touched 
dry  land  once  more.  There  was  much 
close  company  between  decks  to  cheer 
the  lonely  hours ;  a  very  bracing  air  and 
a  very  broad,  bright  laud  to  give  them 
welcome  when  the  voyage  was  ended — ^in 
brief,  they  had  their  advantages. 

The  pioneers  of  Denver  town  were  the 
captains  or  mates  of  prairie  schooners, 
stranded  in  the  midst  of  a  sealike  desert. 
It  was  a  voyage  of  from  six  to  eight  weeks 
west  of  the  Mississippi  in  those  days. 
The  only  stations — and  miserably  primi- 
tive ones  at  that  —  lay  along  Ben  Holh- 
day's  overland  stage  route.  They  were 
far  between.  Indians  waylaid  the  voy- 
agers; fires,  famine  and  fatigue  helped  to 
strew  the  trail  with  the  graves  of  men  and 
the  carcasses  of  animals.  Hard  lines 
were  these ;  but  not  so  hard  as  the  lines 
of  those  who  pushed  farther  into  the 
wilderness,  nor  stayed  their  adventurous 
feet  till  they  were  planted  on  the  rich  soil 
of  the  Pacific  slope. 

Pioneer  life  knows  little  varietv.     The 


22    Over  the  Rocky  Moimtains  to  Alaska. 

menu  of  the  Colorado  banquet  July  4, 
1859,  will  re\dve  in  the  minds  of  many  an 
old  Cahfornian  the  fast-fading  memories 
of  the  past;  but  I  fear,  twill  be  a  long 
time  before  such  a  menu  as  the  following 
will  gladden  the  eyes  of  the  average 
prospector  in  the  Klondyke : 

MENU. 

SOXTP. 

A  la  Bean. 

FISH. 

Brook  Trout,  a  la  catch  'em  first. 

MEATS. 

Antelope  larded,  pioneer  style. 

BREAD. 

Biscuit,  hand-made,  full  weight,  a  la 

yellow. 

VEGETABI^ES. 

Beans,  mountain  style,  warranted  boiled 

forty-eight  hours,  a  la  soda. 

DESSERT. 

Dried  Apples,  Russell  gulch  style. 

Coffee,  served  in  tin  cups,  to  be  washed 

clean  for  the  occasion,  overland 

style,  a  la  no  cream. 

In  those  days  Horace  Greeley,  returning 
from  his  California  tour,  halted  to  cast 
his  eye  over  the  now  West.  The  miners 
primed  an  old  blunderbus  with  rich  dust, 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    23 

and  judiciously  salted  Grregory  gulch.  Of 
course  Horace  was  invited  to  inspect  it. 
Being  somewhat  horny-handed,  he  seized 
pick  and  shovel  and  went  to  work  in  ear- 
nest. The  pan-out  was  astonishing.  He 
flew  back  to  New  York  laden  with  the 
glittering  proofs  of  wealth ;  gave  a  whole 
page  of  the  Trihune  to  his  tale  of  the 
golden  fleece ;  and  a  rush  to  the  new  digg- 
ings followed  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Denver  and  Auraria  were  rival  settle- 
ments on  the  opposite  shores  of  Cherry 
Creek;  in  1860  they  consolidated,  and 
then  boasted  a  population  of  4000,  in  a 
vast  territoiy  containing  but  60,000  souls. 
The  boom  was  on,  and  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore a  parson  made  his  appearance.  This 
was  the  Rev.  George  Washington  Fisher 
of  the  Methodist  Church,  who  accepted 
the  offer  of  a  saloon  as  a  house  of  worship, 
using  the  bar  for  a  pulpit.  His  text  was : 
''Ho,  everyone  that  thirsteth !  come  ye  to 
the  waters.  And  he  that  hath  no  money, 
come  ye,  buy  and  eat.  Yea,  come  buy 
wine  and  milk  without  money  and  with- 
out price."  On  the  walls  were  displayed 
these  legends :  "No  trust,"  ''Pay  as  you 
go,"  "Twenty-five  cents  a  drink,"  etc. 

Colorado  Territory  was  organized  in 
3861,    and    was    loyal    to    the    Union. 


24    Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

Denver  was  still  booming,  though  she 
suffered  nearly  all  the  ills  that  precocious 
settlements  are  heir  to.  The  business 
portion  of  the  town  was  half  destroyed  in 
1863;  Cherry  Creek  flooded  her  in  1864, 
floating  houses  out  of  reach  and  drowning 
fifteen  or  twenty  of  the  inhabitants. 
Then  the  Indians  went  on  the  war-path ; 
stages  and  wagon  trains  were  attacked ; 
passengers  and  scattered  settlers  massa- 
cred, and  the  veiytown  itself  threatened. 
Alarm-bells  warned  the  frightened  in- 
habitants of  impending  danger;  many 
fled  to  the  United  States  Mint  for  refuge, 
and  to  cellars,  cisterns,  and  dark  alleys. 
This  was  during  the  mid  reign  of  Spotted 
Horse  along  the  shores  of  the  Platte,  be- 
fore he  was  captured  by  Major  Downing 
at  the  battle  of  Sand  Creek,  and  finally 
sent  to  Europe  on  exhibition  as  a  genuine 
child  of  the  forest. 

Those  were  stirring  times,  when  every 
man  had  an  eye  to  business,  and  could 
hardly  afford  to  spare  it  long  enough  to 
wink.  It  is  related  of  a  certain  minister 
who  was  officiating  at  a  funeral  that,  while 
standing  by  the  coffin  offering  the  final 
prayer,  he  noticed  one  of  the  mourners 
kneeling  upon  the  loose  earth  recently 
thrown  from  the  grave.     This  man  was 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    25 

a  prospector,  like  all  the  rest,  and  in  an 
absent-minded  way  he  had  tearfully  been 
sifting  the  soil  through  his  fingers.  Sud- 
denly he  arose  and  began  to  stake  out  a 
claim  adjoining  the  grave.  This  was,  of 
course,  observed  by  the  clergyman,  who 
hastened  the  ceremonials  to  a  conclusion, 
and  ended  his  prayer  thus:  "Stake  me 
off  a  claim,  Bill.  We  ask  it  for  Christ's 
sake.     Amen." 

Horace  Greeley's  \\.^\t  was  fully  appre- 
ciated, and  his  name  given  to  a  mountain 
hamlet,  long  after  known  familiarly  as 
"Saint's  Rest, ' '  because  there  was  nothing 
stimulating  to  be  found  thereabout.  Poor 
Meeker,  for  many  years  agricultural  editor 
of  the  New  York  Tr'ihmie,  founded  that 
settlement.  He  was  backed  by  Greeley, 
and  established  the  Greeley  Tribune  at 
Saint's  Rest.  In  1877  Meeker  was  made 
Indian  agent,  and  he  did  his  best  to  live 
up  to  the  dream  of  the  Indian-maniacs ; 
but,  after  two  years  of  self-sacrifice  and 
devotion  to  the  cause,  he  was  brutally  be- 
trayed and  murdered  by  Chief  Douglas, 
of  the  Utes,  his  guest  at  the  time.  Mrs. 
Meeker  and  her  daughters,  and  a  Mrs. 
Price  and  her  child,  were  taken  captive 
and  subjected  to  the  usual  treatment 
which  all  women  and  children  may  ex- 


26    Over  the  Eocky  Mountcmis  to  Alaska, 

pect  at  the  hands  of  the  noble  red-man. 
They  were  rescued  in  due  season;  but 
what  was  rescue  to  them  save  a  prolonga- 
tion of  inconsolable  bereavement! 

When  General  Grrant  visited  Central, 
the  little  mountain  town  received  him 
royally.  A  pavement  of  solid  silver  bricks 
was  laid  for,  him  to  walk  upon  from  his 
carriage  to  the  hotel  door.  One  sees  very 
little  of  this  barbaric  splendor  nowadays 
even  in  Denver,  the  most  pretentious  of 
far  Western  burgs.  She  is  a  metropolis 
of  magnificent  promises.  Alighting  at  the 
airy  station,  you  take  a  carriage  for  the 
hotel,  and  come  at  once  to  the  centre  of 
the  city.  Were  you  to  continue  your 
drive  but  a  few  blocks  farther,  you  would 
come  with  equal  abruptness  to  the  edge 
of  it.  The  surprise  is  delightful  in  either 
case,  but  the  suddenness  of  the  transition 
makes  the  stranger  guest  a  little  dizzy  at 
first.  There  are  handsome  buildings  in 
Denver  —  blocks  that  would  do  credit  to 
any  city  under  the  sun ;  but  there  was  for 
years  an  upstart  air,  a  palpable  pro\4n- 
cialism,  a  kind  of  ill-disguised  ''pre\dous- 
ness,"  noticeable  that  made  her  seem  like 
the  brisk  suburb  of  some  other  place,  and 
that  other  place,  alas!  in^dsible  to  mortal 
eye.     Rectangular  blocks  make  a  checker- 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    27 

board  of  the  town  map.  The  streets  are 
appropriately  named  Antelope,  Bear, 
Bison,  Boulder,  Buffalo,  Coyote,  Cedar, 
Cottonwood,  Deer,  Grolden,  Granite, 
Moose,  etc.  The  names  of  most  trees, 
most  precious  stones,  the  great  States  and 
Territories  of  the  West,  with  a  sprinkling 
of  Spanish,  hkewise  beguile  you  off  into 
space,  and  leave  the  once  nebulous  burg 
beaming  in  the  rear. 

Denver's  theatre  is  remarkably  hand- 
some. In  hot  weather  the  atmosphere  is 
tempered  by  torrents  of  ice-water  that 
crash  through  hidden  aqueducts  with  a 
sound  as  of  twenty  sawmills.  The  man- 
agement dams  the  flood  when  the  curtain 
rises  and  the  players  begin  to  speak ;  the 
music  lovers  damn  it  from  the  moment 
the  curtain  falls.  They  are  absorbed  in 
volumes  of  silent  profanity  between  the 
acts  •,  for  the  orchestra  is  literally  drowned 
in  the  roar  of  the  rushing  element.  There 
was  nothing  that  interested  me  more  than 
a  copy  of  Alice  Polk  Hill's  ''Tales  of  the 
Colorado  Pioneers";  and  to  her  I  return 
thanks  for  all  that  I  borrowed  without 
leave  from  that  diverting  volume. 

Somehow  Denver,  after  my  early  -visit, 
leaves  with  me  an  impression  as  of  a  per- 
fectly new  city  that  has  just  been  un- 


28    Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

packed ;  as  if  the  various  parts  of  it  had 
been  set  up  in  a  great  huriy,  and  the 
citizens  were  now  impatiently  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  rest  of  the  properties. 
Some  of  the  streets  that  appeared  so  well 
at  first  glance,  seemed,  upon  inspection, 
more  like  theatrical  flats  than  reaUties; 
and  there  was  always  a  consciousness  of 
everything  being  wide  open  and  uncov- 
ered. Indeed,  so  strongly  did  I  feel  this 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  I  could  refrain 
from  wearing  my  hat  in  the  house.  Nor 
could  I  persuade  myself  that  it  was  quite 
safe  to  go  out  alone  after  dark,  lest  un- 
wittingly I  should  get  lost,  and  lift  up  in 
vain  the  voice  of  one  crying  in  the  wilder- 
ness; for  the  blank  and  weird  spaces 
about  there  are  as  wide  as  the  horizon 
where  the  distant  mountains  seem  to  have 
sUd  partly  down  the  terrestrial  incline, — 
spaces  that  offer  the  unwary  neither  hope 
nor  hospice,  —  where  there  is  positively 
shelter  for  neither  man  nor  beast,  from 
the  red-brick  heart  of  the  ambitious  young 
city  to  her  snow-capped  ultimate  suburb. 


^j^^-o 


75^ 


'^m^^^^ 


Chapter  III. 
The  Garden  of  the  Gods. 


'J^HE 


trains  run  out  of  Denver  like 
quick-silver,  —  this  is  the  prettiest 
thing  I  can  say  of  Denver,  They  trickle 
down  into  high,  green  valleys,  under  the 
shadow  of  snow-capped  cliffs.  There  the 
grass  is  of  the  liveliest  tint  —  a  kind  of 
salad-green.  The  air  is  sweet  and  fine; 
everything  looks  clean,  well  kept,  well 
swept  —  perhaps  the  wind  is  the  keeper 
and  the  sweeper.  All  along  the  way  there 
is  a  very  striking  contrast  of  color  in  rock, 
meadows,  and  sky ;  the  whole  is  as  appe- 
tizing to  the  sight  as  a  newly  varnished 
picture. 

We  didn't  down  brakes  until  we  reached 
Colorado  Springs ;  there  we  changed  cars 
for  Manitou.  Already  the  castellated 
rocks  were  filling  us  with  childish  delight. 
Fungi  decked  the  cliffs  above  us :  colossal, 
petrified  fungi,  painted  Indian  fashion. 
At  any  rate,  there  is  a  kind  of  wild,  out- 
of-door,  subdued  harmony  in  the  rock- 
(29) 


30    Over  the  Bocky  Moimfains  to  Alasha. 

tints  upon  the  exterior  slopes  of  the  famed 
Garden  of  the  Gods,  quite  in  keeping  ^ith 
the  spirit  of  the  decorative  red-man. 
AVithin  that  garden  color  and  form  run 
riot,  and  Manitou  is  the  restful  outpost 
of  this  erratic  wilderness. 

It  is  fitting  that  Manitou  should  be  ap- 
proached in  a  rather  primitive  manner. 
I  was  glad  when  we  were  very  politely  in- 
cited to  get  out  of  the  train  and  walk  a 
plank  over  a  puddle  that  for  a  moment 
submerged  the  track ;  glad  when  we  were 
advised  to  foot  it  over  a  trestle-bridge 
that  sagged  in  the  smft  current  of  a 
swollen  stream;  and  gladder  still  when 
our  locomotive  began  to  puff  and  blow 
and  slaken  its  pace  as  we  climbed  up  into 
the  mouth  of  a  ra^dne  fragrant  with  the 
warm  scents  of  summer — albeit  we  could 
boast  but  a  solitary  brace  of  cars,  and 
these  small  ones,  and  not  overcrowded  at 
that. 

Only  think  of  it!  We  were  scarcely 
three  hours  by  rail  from  Denver ;  and  yet 
here,  in  Manitou,  were  the  very  elements 
so  noticeably  lacking  there.  Nature  in 
her  natural  state — primitive  forever ;  the 
air  seasoned  with  the  pungent  spices  of 
odoriferous  herbs ;  the  sweetest  sunshine 
in  abundance,  and  all  the  shade  that 
makes  sunshine  most  agreeable. 


Over  the  Bochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.   31 

Manitou  is  a  picturesque  hamlet  that 
has  scattered  itself  up  and  down  a  deep 
rS  regardless  of  the  limiting  lines  ot 
Ihe  surveyor.  The  railway  station  at 
Manitou  might  pose  for  a  Porter's  lodge 
in  the  prettiest  park  m  England.  Suiely 
there  is  hope  for  America  when  she  can 
so  far  curb  her  vulgar  love  f ^  the  mf  dy 
practical  as  to  do  that  sort  of  thing  at  the 
ri^ht  time  and  in  the  right  place. 

Ifine  stream  brawls  through  the  bed 
of  ^this  lovely  vale.     There  are  mstic  cot- 
tages  that  cluster  upon  the  brink  of  the 
stream,  as  if  charmed  by  the  music  of  its 
son^    mid  I  am  sure  that  the  cottagers 
dwelling  therein  have  no  wish  to  hang 
their  harps  upon  any  willows  whatever; 
or  to  mingle  their  tears,  though  these 
were  indeed  the  waters  of  Babylon  that 
flow  softly  night  and  day  through  the 
o-re^n  groves  of  Manitou.     The  breeze 
stirs  the  pulse  like  a  tonic ;  birds,  bees,  and 
butterflies  dance  in  the  air;  the  leaves 
have  the  gloss  of  varmsh  --  there  is  no 
dust  theret- and  even^hmg  is  cleanly 
cheerful  aAd  reposeful.     From  the  hotel 
veranda  float  the  strains  of  harp  and  viol; 
at  intervals  during  the  day  and  night 
music  helps  us  to  lift  up  our  hearts ;  there 
is  nothing  like  it  -  except  more  of  it. 


32    Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

There  is  not  overmuch  dressmg  among 
the  women,  nor  the  beastly  spirit  of  loud- 
ness among  the  men;  the  domestic  at- 
mosphere is  undisturbed.  A  newspaper 
printed  on  a  hand-press,  and  distributed 
by  the  winds  for  aught  I  know,  has  its 
office  in  the  main  lane  of  the  village ;  its 
society  column  creates  no  scandal.  A 
solitary  bicycle  that  flashes  like  a  shoot- 
ing star  across  the  placid  foreground  i& 
our  nearest  approach  to  an  event  worth 
mentioning. 

Loungers  lounge  at  the  springs  as  if 
they  really  enjoyed  it.  An  amiable  booth- 
boy  displays  his  well-dressed  and  hand- 
somely mounted  foxskins,  his  pressed 
flowers  of  Colorado,  his  queer  mineralo- 
gical  jewelry,  and  his  uncouth  geological 
specimens  in  the  shape  of  hideous  bric-a- 
brac,  as  if  he  took  pleasure  in  thus  enter- 
taining the  public ;  while  everybody  has 
the  cosiest  and  most  sociable  time  over 
the  counter,  and  buys  only  by  accident  at 
last. 

There  are  rock  gorges  in  Manitou, 
through  which  the  Indian  tribes  were 
wont  noiselessly  to  defile  when  on  the 
war-path  in  the  brave  days  of  old ;  gorges 
where  currents  of  hot  air  breathe  in  your 
face  like  the  breath  of  some  fierce  animal. 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    33 

There  are  brilliant  and  noisy  cataracts 
and  cascades  that  silver  the  rocks  with 
spray ;  and  a  huge  winding  cavern  filled 
with  mice  and  filth  and  the  blackness  of 
darkness,  and  out  of  which  one  emerges 
looking  like  a  tramp  and  feeling  like  — 
well!  There  are  springs  bubbling  and 
steeping  and  stagnating  by  the  wayside ; 
springs  containing  corbonates  of  soda, 
lithia,  lime,  magnesia,  andiron ;  sulphates 
of  potassa  and  soda,  chloride  of  sodium 
and  silica,  in  various  solutions.  Some  of 
these  are  sweeter  than  honey  in  the  honey- 
comb ;  some  of  them  smell  to  heaven  — 
what  more  can  the  pampered  palate  of 
man  desire! 

Let  all  those  who  thirst  for  chalybeate 
waters  bear  in  mind  that  the  Ute  Iron 
Spring  of  Manitou  is  .800  feet  higher  than 
St.  Catarina,  the  highest  iron  spring  in 
Europe,  and  nearly  3000  feet  higher  than 
St.  Moritz ;  and  that  the  bracing  air  at  an 
elevation  of  6400  feet  has  probably  as 
much  to  do  with  the  recovery  of  the  in- 
valid as  has  the  judicious  quaffing  of 
medicinal  waters.  Of  pure  iron  springs, 
the  famous  Schwalbach  contains  rather 
more  iron  than  the  Ute  Iron,  and  Spa 
rather  less.  On  the  whole,  Manitou  has 
the  advantage  of  the  most    celebrated 


34    Oi'er  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

modicinal  springs  in  Europe,  and  has  a 
climate  even  in  midwinter  preferable  to 
all  of  them. 

On  the  edge  of  the  pretty  hamlet  at 
Manitou  stands  a  cottage  half  hidden  like 
a  bird's  nest  among  the  trees.  I  saw  only 
the  peaks  of  gables  under  green  boughs; 
and  I  wondered  when  I  was  informed  tlint 
the  lovely  spot  ha<l  been  long  untenanted, 
and  wond(ired  still  more  when  I  learned 
that  it  Wiis  the  y)roY)erty  of  good  Grace 
Greenwood.  Will  she  ever  cease  wander- 
ing, and  return  to  weave  a  new  chaplet  of 
greenwood  leaves  gathered  V)oneath  the 
eaves  of  her  mountain  home? 

At  the  top  of  tlio  village  street  stands 
Pike's  Peak  —  at  least  it  seems  to  stand 
there  when  viewed  through  the  telescopic 
air.  It  is  in  reality  a  dozen  miles  distant ; 
but  is  easily  approached  by  a  windiiig 
trail,  over  which  ladies  in  the  saddle  may 
reach  the  glorious  snow-capped  summit 
and  I'eturn  to  Manitou  between  })reakfast 
and  supper  —  unless  one  should  prefer  to 
bo  rushed  up  and  down  over  the  aerial 
railway.  From  the  signal  station  the  view 
reminds  one  of  a  map  of  the  world.  It 
rather  dazes  thnii  d (flights  the  eyo  to  roam 
so  far,  and  imagination  itself  grows  weary 
at  last  and  is  glad  to  fold  its  wings. 


Over  the  Rocki/  Mountains  to  Alaska.    35 

Manitou's  chief  attraction  lies  over  the 
first  range  of  hills— the  veritable  Garden 
of  the  Gods.  You  may  walk,  ride  or  drive 
to  it ;  in  any  case  the  surprise  begins  the 
moment  you  reach  the  ridge's  top  above 
Manitou,  and  ceases  not  till  the  back  is 
turned  at  the  close  of  the  excursion — nor 
then  either,  for  the  memory  of  that  mar- 
vel haunts  one  like  a  feverish  dream. 
Fancy  a  softly  undulating  land,  delicately 
wooded  and  decked  with  many  an  orna- 
mental shrub ;  a  landscape  that  composes 
so  well  one  can  scarcely  assure  himself 
that  the  artist  or  the  landscape  gardener 
has  not  had  a  hand  in  the  beautifying 
of  it.  ^     ^ 

In  this  lonely,  silent  land,  with  ploud 
shadows  floating  across  it,  at  long  inter- 
vals bird  voices  or  the  bleating  of  distant 
flocks  charm  the  listening  ear.  Out  of 
this  wild  and  beautiful  spot  spring  Cyclo- 
pean rocks,  appaUing  in  the  splendor  of 
their  proportions  and  the  magnificence  of 
their  dyes.  Sharp  shafts  shoot  heaven- 
ward from  breadths  of  level  sward,  and 
glow  like  li\dng  flames ;  peaks  of  various 
tinges  overlook  the  tops  of  other  peaks, 
that,  in  their  turn,  lord  it  among  gigantic 
bowlders  piled  upon  massive  pedestals. 
It  is  Osso  upon  Pelion,  in  little;  vastly 


36    Over  the  Eocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

impressive  because  of  the  exceptional  sur- 
roundings that  magnify  these  magnificent 
monuments,  unique  in  their  design  and 
almost  unparalleled  in  their  picturesque 
and  daring  outline.  Some  of  the  mono- 
liths tremble  and  sway,  or  seem  to  sway ; 
for  they  are  balanced  edgewise,  as  if  the 
gods  had  amused  themselves  in  some  in- 
fantile game,  and,  growing  weary  of  this 
little  planet,  had  fled  and  left  their  toys 
in  confusion.  The  top-heavy  _  and  the 
tottering  ones  are  almost  within  reach; 
but  there  are  slabs  of  rock  that  look  like 
sUces  out  of  a  mountain  —  I  had  almost 
said  like  slices  out  of  a  red-hot  volcano ; 
they  stand  up  against  the  blue  sky  and 
the  widespreadiug  background  in  brilhant 
and  astonishing  perspective. 

I  doubt  if  anj^where  else  in  the  world 
the  contrasts  in  color  and  form  are  more 
\dolent  than  in  the  Grarden  of  the  Gods. 
They  are  not  always  agreeable  to  the  eye, 
for  there  is  much  crude  color  here ;  but 
there  are  points  of  sight  where  these 
columns,  pinnacles,  spires  and  obelisks, 
with  base  and  capital,  are  so  grouped  that 
the  massing  is  as  fantastical  as  a  cloud 
picture,  and  the  whole  can  be  compared 
only  to  a  petrified  afterglow.  I  have  seen 
pictures  of  the  Grarden  of  the  Grods  that 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    37 

made  me  nearly  burst  with  laughter;  I 
mean  color  studies  that  were  supremely 
lidiculous  in  my  eyes,  for  I  had  not  then 
seen  the  original;  but  none  of  these 
makes  me  laugh  any  longer.  They  serve, 
even  the  wildest  and  the  worst  of  them, 
to  remind  me  of  a  morning  drive,  in  the 
best  of  company,  through  that  grand 
garden  where  our  combined  vocabularies 
of  delight  and  wonderment  were  ex- 
hausted inside  of  fifteen  minutes;  and 
where  we  drove  on  and  on,  hour  after 
hour,  from  chmax  to  chmax,  lost  in 
speechless  amazement. 

Grlan  Eyrie  is  the  valley  of  Rasselas — I 
am  sure  it  is.  The  Prince  of  Abyssinia 
left  the  gate  open  when  he,  poor  fool! 
went  forth  in  search  of  happiness  and 
found  it  not.  Now  any  one  may  drive 
through  the  domain  of  the  present  pos- 
sessor and  admire  his  wealth  of  pictorial 
solitude  —  without,  however,  sharing  it 
further.  If  it  were  mine,  would  I  permit 
this  much,  I  wonder?  Only  the  elect 
should  enter  there ;  and  once  the  charmed 
circle  was  complete,  we  would  wall  up 
the  narrow  passage  that  leads  to  this  ter- 
restrial paradise,  and  you  would  hear  no 
more  from  us,  or  of  us,  nor  we  of  you,  or 
from  you,  forever. 


38   Over  the  Bocky  Iloimtains  to  Alaska. 

On  my  first  visit  to  Colorado  Springs 
I  made  a  little  pilgrimage.  I  heard  that  a 
gentle  lady,  whom  I  had  always  mshed  to 
see,  was  at  her  home  on  the  edge  of  the 
city.  No  trouble  in  finding  the  place: 
any  one  could  direct  me.  It  was  a  cosy 
cottage  in  the  midst  of  a  garden  and 
shaded  by  thickly  leaved  trees.  Some  one 
was  bowed  down  among  the  strawberry 
beds,  busy  there;  yet  the  place  seemed 
half  deserted  and  very,  very  quiet.  Big 
bamboo  chairs  and  lounges  lined  the  ^dne- 
curtained  porch.  The  shades  in  the  low 
bay-window  were  half  drawn,  and  a  glint 
of  sunshine  lighted  the  warm  interior.  I 
saw  heaps  of  precious  books  on  the  table 
in  that  deep  window.  There  was  a  mos- 
quito door  in  the  porch,  and  there  I 
knocked  for  admittance.  I  knocked  for 
a  long  time,  but  received  no  answer.  I 
knocked  again  so  that  I  might  be  heard 
even  in  the  strawberry  bed.  A  little 
kitten  came  up  out  of  the  garden  and  said 
something  kittenish  to  me,  and  then  I 
heard  a  muffled  step  within.  The  door 
opened — the  inner  door, — and  beyond  the 
wire-cloth  screen,  that  remained  closed 
against  me,  I  saw  a  figure  like  a  ghost, 
but  a  very  buxom  and  wholesome  ghost 
indeed. 

I  asked  for  the  hostess.     Alas!  she  was 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    39 

far  away  and  had  been  ill;  it  was  not 
known  when  she  would  return.  Her 
address  was  offered  me,  and  I  thought  to 
write  her, — thought  to  tell  her  how  I  had 
sought  out  her  home,  hoping  to  find  her 
after  years  of  patient  waiting;  and  that 
while  I  talked  of  her  through  the  wire- 
cloth  screen  the  kitten,  which  she  must 
have  petted  once  upon  a  time,  climbed  up 
the  screen  until  it  had  reached  the  face 
of  the  amiable  woman  within,  and  then 
purred  and  purred  as  only  a  real  kitten 
can.  I  never  wrote  that  letter;  for  while 
we  were  chatting  on  the  porch  she  of 
whom  we  chatted,  she  who  has  written  a 
whole  armful  of  the  most  womanly  and 
lovable  of  books,  Helen  Hunt  Jackson, 
lay  dying  in  San  Francisco  and  we  knew 
it  not.  But  it  is  something  to  have  stood 
by  her  threshold,  though  she  was  never 
again  to  cross  it  in  the  flesh,  and  to  have 
been  greeted  by  her  kitten.  How  she 
loved  kittens !  And  now  I  can  associate 
her  memory  with  the  peacefulest  of  cot- 
tages, the  easiest  of  veranda  chairs,  a  bay- 
window  full  of  books  and  sunshine,  and  a 
strawberry  bed  alive  with  berries  and 
blossoms  and  butterfles  and  bees.  And 
yonder  on  the  heights  her  body  was  anon 
laid  to  rest  among  the  haunts  she  loved 
so  dearly. 


Chapter  IV. 

A  Whirl  across  the  Rockies. 

A  LONG-  time  ago — nearly  a  quarter  of 
^^  a  century — California  could  boast  a 
literary  weekly  capable  of  holding  its  own 
with  any  in  the  land.  This  was  before 
San  Francisco  had  begun  to  lose  her 
unique  and  deUghtful  indi\4duahty — now 
gone  forever.  Among  the  contributors  to 
this  once  famous  weekly  were  Mark 
Twain,  Bret  Harte,  Prentice  Mulford, 
Joaquin  Miller,  Dan  de  Quille,  Orpheus 
C.  Kerr,  C.  H.  Webb,  ''John  Paul,"  Ada 
Clare,  Ada  Isaacs  Menken,  Ina  Coolbrith, 
and  hosts  of  others.  Fitz  Hugh  Ludlow 
wrote  for  it  a  series  of  brilhant  descriptive 
letters  recounting  his  adventures  during 
a  recent  overland  journey;  they  were 
afterward  incorporated  in  a  volume — long 
out  of  print — entitled  ''The  Heart  of  the 
Continent." 

In  one  of  these  letters  Ludlow  wrote  as 
f ollovrs  of  the  probable  future  of  Manitou : 
"When  Colorado  becomes    a  populous 
(40) 


Over  the  Rocky  Moimtains  to  Alaska.   41 

State,  the  springs  of  the  Fontaine-qui- 
Bouille  will  constitute  its  Spa.  In  air 
and  scenery  no  more  glorious  summer 
residence  could  be  imagined.  The  Colora- 
dian  of  the  future,  astonishing  the  echoes 
of  the  rocky  foothills  by  a  railroad  from 
Denver  to  the  springs,  and  running  down 
on  Saturday  to  stop  over  Sunday  with 
his  family,  mil  have  little  cause  to  envy 
us  Easterners  our  Saratoga  as  he  paces 
up  and  down  the  piazza  of  the  Spa  hotel, 
mingling  his  full-flavored  Havana  with 
that  lovely  air,  unbreathed  before,  which 
is  floating  down  upon  him  from  the  snow 
peaks  of  the  range."  His  prophecy  has 
become  true  in  every  particular.  But 
what  would  he  have  thought  had  he 
threaded  the  tortuous  path  now  marked 
by  glistening  railway  tracks'?  What  would 
he  have  said  of  the  Grrand  Canon  of  the 
Arkansas,  the  Black  Canon  of  the  Gun- 
nison, Castle  Canon  and  Marshall  Pass 
over  the  crest  of  the  continent? 

I  suppose  a  narrow-guage  road  can  go 
anywhere.  It  trails  along  the  slope  of 
shelving  hills  like  a  wild  vine;  it  slides 
through  gopher-hole  tunnels  as  a  thread 
slides  through  the  eye  of  a  needle;  it 
utilizes  water-courses ;  it  turns  ridiculously 
sharp  corners  in  a  style  calculated  to  re- 


42   Over  the  Horki/  Mountains  to  A  laslca. 

mind  orio  of  tbo  dnyH  wluui  li(^  pinyjid 
"snji,p4h(i-wliit)"  jukI  }iiif)p(!n(^(l  to  bo  llio 
Hn<'i[)t)(ir  liirriHoir.  Tlii.s  in  0Hp(Kdnlly  tlio 
c'iKo  if  OIK)  iK  Hitiin^  on  ih(i  ronr  pint  fonn 
of  tlio  1,'iMt  (%'ir.  Wo  nfioti  a  oiinoii  by  «lii,y- 
b^tif',  and  inarvollod  at  tlio  ^hi/CidHinfac-o 
of  tfio  rod  rock  with  iKiVor  ho  in  noli  a,H  a 
scratch  ovor  it.  On  tho  ono  band  wo 
nojiriy  scnifXid  tbo  a})rn}»t  p('rpcn(li<*nlar 
wall  that  toworcid  biindrodH  of  f»5ot  abovo 
us;  on  tho  othor,  a  Hwii't,  rnnddy  torrcmt 
Kpr.'iri^  at  onr  HtoMo-bo(l(b'-d  nlooporH  aw  if 
to  KdJiich  thorn  away;  wbilo  it  floocb'*!  tbo 
canon  to  tbo  oppoHJto  wall,  thnt  did  not 
HO(;m  rnoro  that  a  iow  yards  diHlant.  'J'b(i 
Htroam  wan  Hwolhin,  and  wont  liowlin^ 
down  tb<i  riivino  full  of  sfjnnd  and  fury — 
wliicf)  in  tliis  ca.Ho,  bowovoj',  Hi^nifiod  a 
good  doal. 

Onco  wo  Htof)pod  and  took  an  obscM-va- 
tion,  for  tho  track  wasnndor  wator;  tlnm 
wo  wadod  oa.uiiouMly  to  tho  rnjiinland, 
acroMH  tbo  Hunl<(?n  H(5otion,  an<]  tbaid<(5(l 
our  .stars  that  wo  woro  not  boycotted  by 
tbo  olornonts  at  that  irdiospitablo  point. 
Onco  wo  pauHo.d  for  a  fow  minutes  to  con- 
torn  pbito  tlio  tot?d  wr-ock  <A'  a  jmlncc  car 
tluj.t  b;i,d  rocontly  struck  a,  projecting 
bowldor — and  spa,ttor-od. 

Tho  camps  along  tbo   track    nr-o   just 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    43 

such  as  may  be  looked  for  in  the  waste 
places  of  the  earth  —  temporary  shelter 
for  wayfarers  whose  homes  are  under 
their  hats.  The  thin  stream  of  civiliza- 
tion that  trickles  off  into  the  wilderness, 
following  the  iron  track,  makes  puddles 
now  and  again.  Some  of  these  dwindle 
away  soon  enough — or  perhaps  not  quite 
soon  enough ;  some  of  them  increase  and 
become  permanent  and  beautiful. 

Night  found  us  in  the  Black  Canon  of 
the  Grunnison.  Could  any  time  be  more 
appropriate?  Clouds  rolled  over  us  in 
dense  masses,  and  at  intervals  the  moon 
flashed  upon  us  like  a  dark  lantern .  Could 
anything  be  more  picturesque  ?  We  knew 
that  much  of  the  darkness,  the  blackness 
of  darkness,  was  adamantine  rock;  some 
of  it  an  inky  flood — a  veritable  river  of 
death — rolling  close  beneath  us,  but  quite 
invisible  most  of  the  time ;  and  the  night 
itself  a  profound  mystery,  through  which 
we  burned  an  endless  tunnel — like  a  fire- 
brand hurled  into  space. 

Now  and  again  the  heavens  opened,  and 
then  we  saw  the  moon  soaring  among  the 
monumental  peaks ;  but  the  heights  were 
so  cloudhke  and  the  cloud  masses  so  solid 
we  could  not  for  the  life  of  us  be  certain 
of  the  nature  of  either.   There  were  canons 


44    Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

like  huge  quarries,  and  canons  like  rocky 
mazes,  where  we  seemed  to  have  rushed 
headlong  into  a  cul  de  sac,  and  were  in 
danger  of  dashing  cur  brains  out  against 
the  mighty  walls  that  loomed  before  us. 
There  was  many  a  winding  stream  which 
we  took  at  a  single  bound,  and  occasion- 
ally an  oasis,  green  and  flowery;  but,  oh, 
so  few  habitations  and  so  few  spots  that 
one  would  really  care  to  inhabit ! 

Marshall  Pass  does  very  well  for  once ; 
it  is  an  experience  and  a  novelty  —  what 
else  is  there  in  life  to  make  it  livable  save 
a  new  experience  or  the  hope  of  one?  Such 
a  getting  up  hill  as  precedes  the  rest  at 
the  summit!  We  stopped  for  breath 
while  the  locomotive  puffed  and  panted 
as  if  it  would  burst  its  brass-bound  lungs ; 
then  we  began  to  climb  again,  and  to 
wheeze,  fret  and  fume;  and  it  seemed  as 
if  we  actually  went  down  on  hands  and 
knees  and  crept  a  bit  when  the  grade  be- 
came steeper  than  usual.  Only  think  of 
it  a  moment — an  incline  of  two  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  to  the  mile  in  soane  places, 
and  the  track  climbing  over  itself  at  fre- 
quent intervals.  Far  below  us  we  saw 
the  terraces  we  had  passed  long  before ; 
far  above  us  lay  the  great  land  we  were  so 
slowly  and  so  painfully  approaching.    At 


Over  the  RocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska.    45 

last  we  reached  the  summit,  ten  thousand 
eight  hundred  and  twenty  feet  above  sea 
level  —  a  God-forsaken  district,  bristhng 
with  dead  trees,  and  mth  hardly  air 
enough  to  go  around. 

We  stopped  in  a  long  shed  —  built  to 
keep  off  the  sky,  I  suppose.  Gallants 
prospected  for  flowers  and  grass-blades, 
and  received  the  profuse  thanks  of  the 
fair  in  exchange  for  them.  Then  we 
glided  down  into  the  snow  lands  that  lay 
beyond  —  filled  with  a  delicious  sense  of 
relief,  for  a  fellow  never  feels  so  mean  or 
so  small  a  pigmy  as  when  perched  on  an 
Alpine  height. 

More  canons  followed,  and  no  two  alike ; 
then  came  plain  after  plain,  with  buttes 
outlined  in  the  distance;  more  plains, 
with  nothing  but  their  own  excessive 
plainness  to  boast  of.  We  soon  grew  vastly 
weary;  for  most  plains  are,  after  all,  mere 
platitudes.  And  then  Salt  Lake  City,  the 
Mormon  capital,  with  its  lake  shimmering 
like  a  mirage  in  the  great  glow  of  the 
valley ;  and  a  run  due  north  through  the 
well-tilled  lands  of  the  thrifty  ''saints," 
getting  our  best  wayside  meals  at  stations 
where  buxom  Mormon  women  served  us 
heartily;  still  north  and  west,  flying  night 
and  day  out  of  the  insufferable  summer 


46    Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

dust  that  makes  ovens  of  those  midland 
valleys.  There  was  a  rich,  bracing  air  far 
north,  and  grand  forests  of  spicy  pine, 
and  such  a  Columbia  river-shore  to  follow 
as  is  worth  a  week's  travel  merely  to  get 
one  glimpse  of ;  and  at  last  Portland,  the 
prettiest  of  Pacific  cities,  and  heaps  of 
friends  to  greet  me  there. 

Bright  days  were  to  follow,  as  you  shall 
soon  see ;  for  I  was  still  bound  northward, 
with  no  will  to  rest  until  I  had  plowed 
the  floating  fields  of  ice  and  dozed  through 
the  pale  hours  of  an  artic  summer  under 
the  midnight  sun. 


Chapter  V. 

Off  for  Alaska. 

TF  you  are  bound  for  Alaska,  you  can 
make  the  round  trip  most  conveniently 
and  comfortably  by  taking  the  steamer  at 
Portland,  Oregon,  and  retaining  your 
state-room  until  you  land  again  in  Port- 
land, three  weeks  later.  Or  you  can  run 
north  by  rail  as  far  as  Tacoma;  there 
board  a  fine  little  steamer  and  skim 
through  the  winding  water-ways  of  Puget 
Sound  (as  lovely  a  sheet  of  water  as  ever 
the  sun  shone  on),  debark  at  Port  Town- 
send,  and  here  await  the  arrival  of  the 
Alaska  steamer,  which  makes  its  excur- 
sion trip  monthly — at  least  it  used  to  be- 
fore the  Klondyke  hoards  deranged  the 
time-table  and  the  times. 

If  this  does  not  satisfy  you,  you  may 
take  passage  at  San  Francisco  for  Port 
Townsend  or  Victoria,  and  connect  at 
either  port  with  the  Alaska  boat.  Those 
who  are  still  unsuited  had  better  wait  a 
bit,  when,  no  doubt,  other  as  entirely 
satisfactory  arrangements  will  be  made 
(47) 


48    Over  the  BocJci/  Jlountams  to  Alaska. 

for  their  especial  convenience.  I  went  by 
train  to  Tacoma.  I  wanted  to  sniff  the 
forest  scents  of  Washington  State,  and  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  the  brave  young  settle- 
ments scattered  through  the  North-west- 
ern wilderness.  I  wanted  to  skirt  the 
shore  of  the  great  Sounds,  whose  praises 
have  been  ringing  in  my  ears  ever  since 
I  can  remember  —  and  that  is  a  pretty 
long  time  now. 

I  wanted  to  loaf  for  a  while  in  Port 
Townsend,  the  old  jumping-off  place,  the 
monogram  in  the  extreme  worthwest 
corner  of  the  map  of  the  United  States  of 
America  —  at  least  such  it  was  until  the 
Alaskan  annex  stretched  the  thing  all  out 
of  shape,  and  planted  our  flag  so  far  out 
in  the  Pacific  that  San  Francisco  lies  a 
little  east  of  the  centre  of  the  Union,  and 
the  Hawaiian  islands  come  within  our 
boundaries;  for  our  Aleutian-island  arm, 
you  know,  stretches  a  thousand  miles  to 
the  west  of  Hawaii — it  even  chucks  Asia 
under  the  chin. 

But  now  let  me  offer  you  a  stray  hand- 
ful of  leaves  from  my  note-book  —  mere 
suggestions  of  travel. 

At  Portland  took  morning  train  for 
Tacoma,  one  hundred  and  forty-seven 
miles.     Swarms  of  people  at  the  station, 


Over  the  Bochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.    49 

and  some  ominous  ''good-byes";  the  ma- 
jority talking  of  Alaska  in  a  superior 
fashion,  which  impHes  that  they  are 
through  passengers,  and  they  don't  care 
who  knows  it.  Alaska  boat  left  Portland 
two  days  ago ;  we  are  to  catch  her  at  Port 
Townsend,  and  it  looks  as  if  we  should 
crowd  her.  Train  crosses  the  Columbia 
River  on  a  monster  ferry;  a  jolly  and 
restful  half  hour  in  the  cars  and  out 
of  them. 

A  very  hot  and  dusty  ride  through 
Washington  State,  —  part  of  it  pretty 
enough  and  part  of  it  by  no  means  so. 
Cars  full  of  screaming  babies,  sweltering 
tourists,  and  falling  cinders  that  sting 
like  dumb  mosquitoes.  Rather  a  mixed 
neighborhood  on  the  rail.  An  effusively 
amiable  evangelist  bobs  up  almost  imme- 
diately, —  one  of  those  fellows  whom  no 
amount  of  snubbing  can  keep  under.  Old 
Probabilities  is  also  on  board,  discoursing 
at  intervals  to  all  who  will  give  ear. 
Some  quiet  and  interesting  folk  in  a  state 
of  suspense,  and  one  young  fellow  —  a 
regular  trump, — promise  better  things. 

We  reach  Tacoma  at  6.30  p.  m. ;  a 
queer,  scattering  town  on  Commence- 
ment Bay,  at  the  head  of  Puget  Sound. 
Very  deep  water  just   off  shore.     Two 


50    Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

boys  in  a  sailboat  are  blown  about  at  the 
mercy  of  the  fitful  wind ;  boat  on  beam- 
ends;  boys  on  the  uppermost  gunwale; 
sail  lying  flat  on  the  water.  But  nobody 
seems  to  care,  not  even  the  young  casta- 
ways. Perhaps  the  inhabitants  of  Taco- 
ma  are  amphibious.  Very  beautiful  sheet 
of  water,  this  Puget  Sound ;  long,  wind- 
ing, monotonous  shores;  trees  all  alike, 
straight  up  and  down,  mostly  pines  and 
cedars ;  shores  rather  low,  and  outline  too 
regular  for  much  picturesque  effect.  Ta- 
coma  commands  the  best  view  of  the 
Sound  and  of  Mt.  Tacoma,  with  its  fifteen 
thousand  perpendicular  feet  looming  rose- 
pink  in  the  heavens,  and  all  its  fifteen 
glaciers  seeming  to  glow  with  an  inner 
tropic  warmth.  There  are  eighteen  hun- 
dred miles  of  shore-line  embroidering  this 
marvellous  Sound.  We  are  continually 
rounding  abrupt  points,  as  in  a  river,  — 
points  so  much  alike  that  an  untutored 
eye  can  not  tell  one  from  another.  Old 
Probabihties  industriously  taking  his 
reckonings  and  growing  more  and  more 
enthusiastic  at  every  turn  —  especially  so 
when  the  after-glow  burns  the  sea  to  a 
coal ;  it  reminds  him  of  a  volcanic  erup- 
tion. There  are  some  people  who  when 
they  see  anything  new  to  them  are  in- 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    51 

stantly  reminded  of  something  else  they 
have  seen,  and  the  new  object  becomes 
second  rate  on  the  spot.  A  httle  travel  is 
a  dangerous  thing. 

Pay  $3.25  for  my  fare  from  Tacoma  to 
Port  Townsend,  and  find  a  moment  later 
that  some  are  pajing  only  $1  for  the 
same  accommodations.  Competition  is 
the  mother  of  these  pleasant  surprises,  but 
it  is  worth  thrice  the  original  price  —  the 
enjoyment  of  this  twilight  cruise.  More 
after-glow,  much  more,  with  the  Olympian 
Mountains  lying  between  us  and  the 
ocean.  In  the  foreground  is  a  golden 
flood  with  scarlet  ripples  breaking  through 
it — a  vision  splendid  and  long  continued. 
Air  growing  quite  chilly ;  strong  draughts 
at  some  of  the  turns  in  the  stream. 
Burely,  in  this  case,  the  evening  and  the 
morning  are  not  the  same  day. 

At  9.30  p.  m.  we  approach  Seattle  —  a 
handsome  town,  with  its  terraces  of  hghts 
twinkling  in  the  gloaming.  Passengers 
soon  distribute  themselves  through  the 
darkness.  I  am  left  alone  on  the  after- 
deck  to  watch  the  big,  shadowy  ships  that 
are  moored  near  us,  and  the  exquisite 
phosphorescent  light  in  the  water  —  a 
wave  of  ink  with  the  luminous  trail  of  a 
struckmatch  smouldering  across  it.     Far 


52   Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

into  the  night  there  was  the  thundering 
of  freight  rolhng  up  and  down  the  decks, 
and  the  ring  of  imdsible  truck- wheels. 

Slept  by  and  by,  and  was  awakened  by 
the  prolonged  shriek  of  a  steam  whistle 
and  a  stream  of  sunlight  that  poured  in 
at  my  state-room  window.  We  were 
backing  and  slowing  off  Port  Ludlow. 
Big  sawmill  close  at  hand.  Four  barks 
lie  at  the  dock  in  front  of  it ;  a  few  houses 
stand  on  the  hill  above ;  pine  woods  crowd 
to  the  water's  edge,  making  the  place 
look  solemn.  Surely  it  is  a  solemn  land 
and  a  solemn  sea  about  here.  After 
breakfast,  about  8.30  o'clock,  Port  Town- 
send  hove  in  sight,  and  here  we  await  the 
arrival  of  the  Alaska  boat.  What  an  odd 
little  town  it  is — the  smallest  possible  city 
set  upon  a  hill;  the  business  quarter 
huddled  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  as  if  it  had 
slid  down  there  and  lodged  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  sea!  The  hotels  stalk  out 
over  the  water  on  stilts.  One  sleeps  well 
in  the  sweet  salt  air,  lulled  by  the  murmer 
of  the  waves  under  the  veranda. 

I  rummage  the  town  in  search  of  ad- 
venture; climb  one  hundred  and  fifty 
steep  steps,  and  find  the  highlands  at  the 
top,  green,  pastoral  and  reposeful.  Pleas- 
ant homes  are  scattered  about;   a  few 


Over  the  Eochj  Moimtams  to  AlasJca.   53 

animals  feed  leisurely  in  the  grassy  streets. 
One  diminutive  Episcopal  chapel  comes 
near  to  being  pretty,  yet  stops  just  short 
of  it.  But  there  is  a  kind  of  unpretend- 
ing prettiness  in  the  bright  and  breezy 
heights  em^roned  by  black  forest  and 
blue  sea. 

A  revenue  cutter — this  is  a  port  of  cus- 
toms, please  remember — lies  in  the  offing. 
She  looks  as  if  she  were  suspended  in  air, 
so  pure  are  the  elements  in  the  northland. 
I  lean  from  a  parapet,  on  my  way  down 
the  seaward  face  of  the  cUff ,  and  hear  the 
order,  ''Make  ready!"  Then  comes  a 
flash  of  flame,  a  white,  leaping  cloud,  and 
a  crash  that  shatters  an  echo  into  frag- 
ments all  along  the  shore ;  while  beautiful 
smoke  rings  roll  up  against  the  sky  hke 
victorious  wreaths. 

I  call  on  the  Hon.  J.  Gr.  Swan,  Hawaiian 
Consul,  author  of  "The  Northwest  Coast; 
or,  Three  Years'  Residence  in  Washington 
Territory."  Find  him  delightful,  and 
dehghtfully  situated  in  a  perfect  museum 
of  Indian  reUcs  -,  himself  full  of  the  live- 
liest recollections  of  Indian  hfe,  and  quite 
an  authority  on  Indian  tongues  and  tra- 
ditions; find  also  an  old  schoolmate,  after 
long  years  of  separation,  and  am  most 
courteously  entertained.     What  a  drive 


54    Over  the  Eochy  Mountains  to  AlasJca. 

we  had  over  the  hills  and  along  the  beach, 
where  the  crows  haunt  the  water's  edge 
hke  sea-birds!  It  hps  been  repeatedly 
affirmed  that  these  crows  have  been  seen 
to  seize  a  clam,  raise  it  high  in  the  air,  let 
it  drop  upon  a  rock,  and  then  pounce 
upon  the  fragments  and  feast  furiously. 
But  I  have  never  seen  one  who  has  had 
ocular  proof  of  this. 

There  was  a  very  happy  hour  spent  at 
Colonel  Douglas'  quarters,  over  at  the 
camp ;  and  then  such  a  long,  long  drive 
through  the  deep  wildwood,  with  its 
dense  undergrowth,  said  to  be  the  haunt 
of  bear,  panther,  wild  cat,  deer,  and  other 
large  game.  Bearberries  grew  in  profusion 
everywhere.  The  road,  kept  in  splendid 
repair  by  the  army  men,  dipped  into  a 
meadow  full  of  savage  mosquitoes;  but 
escaping  through  two  gates,  we  struck 
again  into  the  forest,  where  the  road  was 
almost  overgrown  Avith  dew-damp  brush, 
that  besprinkled  us  profusely  as  we  passed. 

We  paused  upon  the  slope  above  Port 
Discovery  Bay ;  saw  an  old  fellow  on  the 
porch  of  a  wee  cottage  looking  steadfastly 
into  the  future  —  across  the  Bay;  with 
pipe  in  mouth,  he  was  the  picture  of  con- 
^.entment,  abstraction  and  repose.  He 
never  once  turned  to  look  at  us,  though 


Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.    55 

few  pass  that  way;  but  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  upon  a  vision  of  surpassing  beauty, 
where  the  vivid  coloring  was  startling  to 
the  eye  and  the  morning  air  like  an  elixir. 
Nothing  but  the  great  summer  hotel  of 
the  future— it  will  surely  come  some  day 
and  stand  right  there— can  rob  the  spot 
of  its  blissful  serenity. 


— ^i 


Chapter  VI, 

In  the  Inland  Sea. 

TXTE  were  waiting  the  arrival  of  the 
''  Alaska  boat, — wandering  aimlessly 
about  the  little  town,  looking  off  upon 
the  quiet  sea,  now  veiled  in  a  dense  smoke 
blown  down  from  the  vast  forest  fires  that 
were  sweeping  the  interior.  The  sun, 
shorn  of  his  beams,  was  a  disk  of  copper; 
the  sun-track  in  the  sea,  a  trail  of  blood. 
The  clang  of  every  ship's  bell,  the  scream 
of  every  whistle,  gave  us  new  hope ;  but 
we  were  still  waiting,  waiting,  waiting. 
Port  Townsend  stands  knee-deep  in  the 
edge  of  a  sea-garden.  I  sat  a  long  time 
on  the  dock,  watching  for  some  sign  of 
the  belated  boat.  Great  ropes  of  kelp, 
tubes  of  dark  brown  sea-grass,  floated 
past  me  on  the  slow  tide.  Wonderful 
anemones,  pink,  baloon-shaped,  mutable, 
living  and  breathing  things, — these  pant- 
ed as  they  drifted  by.  At  every  respira- 
tion they  expanded  like  the  sudden  blos- 
soming of  a  flower ;  then  they  closed  quite 
as  suddenly,  and  became  mere  buds. 
(56) 


Over  the  Body  Mountains  to  Alaska.    57 

When  the  round  core  of  these  sea-flowers 
was  exposed  to  the  air  —  the  palpitating 
heart  was  just  beneath  the  surface  most 
of  the  time,— they  withered  in  a  breath; 
but  revived  again  the  moment  the  water 
glazed  them  over,  and  fairly  revelled  in 
aqueous  efflorescence. 

' '  Bang ! "    It  was  the  crash  of  an  unmis- 
takable gun,  that  shook  the  town  to  its 
foundations  and  brought  the  inhabitants 
to  their  feet  in  an  instant.     Out  of  the 
smoke  loomed  a  shadowy  ship,  and,  lo! 
it  was  the  Alaska  boat.    A  goodly  number 
of  passengers  were  already  on  board;  as 
many  more  were  now  to  join  her;  and 
then  her  prow  was  to  be  turned  to  the 
north  star  and  held  there  for  some  time 
to  come.    In  a  moment  the  whole  port  was 
in  a  state  of  excitement.     New  arrivals 
hurried  on  shore  to  see  the  hons  of  the 
place.     We,    who    had    been    anxiously 
awaiting  this  hour  for  a  couple  of  long 
summer  davs,  took  the  ship  by  storm, 
and  drove  the  most  amiable  and  obUging 
of  pursers  nearly  frantic  with  our  pressing 
solicitations. 

Everybody  was  laying  in  private  stores, 
this  being  our  last  chance  to  supply  all 
deficiencies.  Light  literature  we  found 
scattered  about  at  the  druggist's  and  the 


58   Over  the  BocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

grocer's  and  the  curiosity  shops;  also 
ink,  pens,  note-books,  tobacco,  scented 
soap  and  playing-cards  were  discovered 
in  equally  unexpected  localities.  We  all 
wanted  volumes  on  the  Northwest  —  as 
many  of  them  as  we  could  get ;  but  almost 
the  only  one  obtainable  was  Skidmore's 
' 'Alaska,  the  Sitkan  Archipelago,"  which 
is  as  good  as  any,  if  not  the  best.  A  few 
had  copies  of  the  '' Pacific  Coast  Pilot. 
Alaska.  Part  I.  Dixon's  Entrance  to 
Yakutat  Bay," — invaluable  as  a  practical 
guide,  and  filled  with  positive  data.  Dall 
and  Whimper  we  could  not  find,  nor 
Bancroft  at  that  time.  Who  will  give  us 
a  handy  volume  reprint  of  delightful  old 
Vancouver? 

We  were  busy  as  bees  all  that  after- 
noon ;  yet  the  night  and  the  starlight  saw 
us  satisfactorily  hived,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  the  buzzing  ceased,  as  ship  and 
shore  slept  the  sleep  of  the  just.  By  and 
by  we  heard  pumping,  hosing,  deck- 
washing,  the  paddling  of  bare  feet  to  and 
fro,  and  all  the  familiar  sounds  of  an 
early  morning  at  sea.  The  ship,  however, 
was  motionless :  we  were  lying  stock-still. 
Doubtless  everybody  was  wondering  at 
this,  as  I  was,  when  there  came  a  crash, 
followed  by  a  small  avalanche  of  broken 


Over  the  Rochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.    59 

timber,  while  the  ship  quaked  in  her 
watery  bed.  I  thought  of  dynamite  and 
the  Dies  Irae;  but  almost  immediately 
the  cabin-boy,  who  appeared  with  the 
matutinal  coffee,  said  it  was  only  the 
Olympian,  the  fashionable  Sound  steamer, 
that  had  run  into  us,  as  was  her  custom. 
She  is  always  running  into  something, 
and  she  succeeded  in  carrying  away  a 
portion  of  our  stern  gear  on  this  occasion. 
Nevertheless,  we  were  delayed  only  a  few 
hours ;  for  the  Olympian  was  polite  enough 
not  to  strike  us  below  the  water-line,  and 
so  by  high  noon  we  were  fairly  underway. 

From  my  log-book  I  take  the  following : 
This  is  slow  and  easy  sailing  —  a  kind  of 
jog-trot  over  the  smoothest  possible  sea, 
with  the  paddles  audibly  working  every 
foot  of  the  way.  We  run  down  among 
the  San  Juan  Islands,  where  the  passages 
are  so  narrow  and  so  intricate  they  make 
a  kind  of  watery  monogram  among  the 
fir-lined  shores.  A  dense  smoke  still  ob- 
scures the  sun, — a  rich  haze  that  softens 
the  distance  and  lends  a  picturesqueness 
that  is  perhaps  not  wholly  natural  to  the 
locality,  though  the  San  Juan  Islands  are 
unquestionably  beautiful. 

The  Grulf  of  Greorgia,  the  Straits  of  Fuca, 
and  Queen  Charlotte  Sound  are  the  words 


60    Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

upon  the  lips  of  everybody.  Shades  of 
my  schoolboy  days !  How  much  sweeter 
they  taste  here  than  in  the  old  geography 
class !  Before  us  stretches  a  wilderness  of 
islands,  mostly  uninhabited,  which  pene- 
trates even  into  the  sunless  winter  and 
the  shadowless  summer  of  Behring  Sea. 

As  for  ourselves,  Old  Probabilities  has 
got  down  to  business.  He  has  opened 
an  impromptu  peripatetic  school  of  na\T.- 
gation,  and  triumphantly  sticks  a  pin  into 
every  point  that  tallies  with  his  yard- 
square  chart.  The  evangelist  has  his 
field-glass  to  his  eye  in  search  of  the  un- 
regenerated  aborigines.  The  swell  tour- 
ists are  much  swollen  with  travel;  they 
loosen  the  belts  of  their  Norfolks,  and  at 
intervals  affect  a  languid  interest  in  this 
mundane  sphere.  There  are  delightful 
people  on  board — many  of  them — and  not 
a  few  others.  There  are  bevies  of  girls — 
all  young,  all  pretty,  and  all,  or  nearly 
all,  bubbling  over  with  hearty  and  whole- 
some laughter. 

What  richness!  A  good,  clean  deck 
running  the  whole  length  of  the  ship ;  a 
cosy  and  cheerful  social  hall,  with  a  first- 
class  upright  piano  of  delicious  tone,  and 
at  least  a  half  dozen  creditable  performers 
to  awaken  the  soul  of  it;  a  good  table. 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    61 

good  weather,  good  luck,  and  positively 
nothing  to  do  but  have  a  good  time  for 
three  solid  weeks  in  the  wilderness.  The 
pestiferous  telephone  can  not  play  the 
earwig  on  board  this  ship ;  the  telegraph, 
with  metalhc  tick,  can  not  once  startle  us 
by  precipitating  town  tattle;  the  postal 
service  is  cut  off;  wars  and  rumors  of 
wars,  the  annihilation  of  a  nation,  even 
the  swallowing  up  of  a  whole  continent, 
are  now  of  less  consequence  to  us  than 
the  possibility  of  a  rain-shower  this  after- 
noon, or  the  solution  of  the  vexed  ques- 
tion, ''Will  the  aurora  dazzle  us  before 
dawn  ? ' '  We  do  not  propose  to  wait  upon 
the  aurora:  for  days  and  days  and  days 
we  are  going  to  climb  up  the  globe  due 
North,  getting  nearer  and  nearer  to  it  all 
the  while.  Now,  inasmuch  as  everything 
is  new  to  us,  we  can  easily  content  our- 
selves for  hours  by  lounging  in  the  easy- 
chairs,  and  looking  off  upon  the  placid 
sea,  and  at  the  perennial  verdure  that 
springs  out  of  it  and  mantles  a  lovely  but 
lonely  land. 

Only  think  of  it  for  a  moment !  Here 
on  the  northwest  coast  there  are  islands 
sown  so  thickly  that  many  of  the  sea-pas- 
sages, though  deep  enough  for  a  three- 
decker  to  swim  in,  are  so  narrow  that  one 


62    Over  the  Bochy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

might  easily  skim  his  hat  across  them. 
There  are  thousands  of  these  islands  — 
yea,  tens  of  thousands,  —  I  don't  know 
just  how  many,  and  perhaps  no  man  does. 
They  are  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  and  the 
majority  of  them  are  handsomely  wooded. 
The  sombre  green  of  the  woods,  stretch- 
ing between  the  sombre  blue-green  of  the 
water  and  the  opaline  sheen  of  the  sky, 
forms  a  picture — a  momentary  picture, — 
the  chief  features  of  which  change  almost 
as  suddenly  and  quite  as  completely  as 
the  transformations  in  a  kaleidoscope. 
We  are  forever  turning  corners;  and  no 
sooner  are  we  around  one  corner  than 
three  others  elbow  us  just  ahead.  Now, 
toward  which  of  the  three  are  we  bound, 
and  will  our  good  ship  run  to  larboard  or 
to  starboard?  This  is  a  turn  one  might 
bet  on  all  day  long — and  lose  nearly  every 
time. 

A  bewildering  cruise !  Vastly  finer  than 
river  sailing  is  this  Alaskan  expedition. 
Here  is  a  whole  tangle  of  rivers  full  of 
strange  tides,  mysterious  currents,  and 
sweet  surprises.  Moreover,  we  can  get 
lost  if  we  want  to — no  one  can  get  lost  in 
a  river.  We  can  rush  in  where  pilots 
fear  to  tread,  strike  sunken  rocks,  toss 
among  dismal    eddies,   or    plunge   into 


Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.    63 

whirlpools.  "We  can  rake  overhanging 
boughs  with  our  yard-arms  if  we  want  to 
—  but  we  don't  want  to.  In  1875  the 
United  States  steamer  Saranac^Qiit  down 
in  Seymour  Narrows,  and  her  fate  was 
sudden  death.  The  United  States  steamer 
Suwanee  met  with  a  like  misfortune  on 
entering  Queen  Charlotte  Sound.  It  is 
rather  jolly  to  think  of  these  things,  and 
to  reahze  that  we  were  in  more  or  less 
danger ;  though  the  shores  are  as  silent  as 
the  grave,  the  sea  sleeps  like  a  mill-pond, 
and  the  sun  sinks  to  rest  with  great  dig- 
nity and  precision,  nightly  bathing  the 
lonely  North  in  sensuous  splendor. 

It  is  getting  late.  Most  of  us  are  in- 
dulging in  a  constitutional.  We  rush  up 
and  down  the  long  flush  decks  like  mad ; 
we  take  fiendish  delight  in  upsetting  the 
pious  dignity  of  the  evangelist ;  we  flutter 
the  smokers  in  the  smoking-room  —  be- 
cause, forsooth,  we  are  chasing  the  girls 
from  one  end  of  the  ship  to  the  other; 
and  consequently  the  denizens  of  the 
masculine  cabin  can  give  their  undivided 
attention  to  neither  cards  nor  tobacco. 
What  fun  it  all  is — when  one  is  not 
obliged  to  do  it  for  a  living,  and  when  it 
is  the  only  healthy  exercise  one  is  able  to 
take! 


64:    Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska, 

By  and  by  the  girls  fly  to  their  little 
nests.  As  we  still  stroll  in  the  ever-so- 
late  twilight,  at  10  p.  m.,  we  hear  them 
piping  sleepily,  one  to  another,  their  heads 
under  their  wings  no  doubt.  They  are 
early  birds  —  but  that  is  all  right.  They 
are  the  life  of  the  ship ;  but  for  their  mirth 
and  music  the  tmlight  would  be  longer 
and  less  delightful.  Far  into  the  night  I 
linger  over  a  final  cigarette.  An  inex- 
pressible calm  steals  over  me,  —  a  feeling 
as  of  deliverance,  for  the  time  being  at 
least,  from  all  the  cares  of  this  world. 
We  are  steaming  toward  a  mass  of  shad- 
ows that,  like  iron  gates,  seem  shut 
against  us.  A  group  of  fellow-voyagers 
gathers  on  the  forward  deck,  resolved  to 
sit  up  and  ascertain  whether  we  really 
manage  to  squeeze  through  some  crevice, 
or  back  out  at  last  and  go  around  the 
block.  I  grow  drowsy  and  think  fondly 
of  my  little  bunk. 

What  a  night !  Everything  has  grown 
vague  and  mysterious.  Not  a  voice  is 
heard — only  the  throb  of  the  engine  down 
below  and  the  articulated  pulsation  of  the 
paddles,  every  stroke  of  which  brings 
forth  a  hollow  sound  from  the  sea,  as 
clear  and  as  well  defined  as  a  blow  upon 
a  drumhead;  but  these  are  softened  by 


Over  the  Eockjj  Mountains  to  Alaska.    65 

the  swish  of  waters  foaming  under  the 
wheel.  Echoes  multiply;  myriads  of 
them,  faint  and  far,  play  peek-a-boo  with 
the  solemn  pilot,  who  silently  paces  the 
deck  when  all  the  ship  is  wrapped  in  a 
deep  sleep. 


Chapter  VII. 

Alaskan   Village   Life. 

TyiTH  the  morning  coffee  came  a 
rumor  of  an  Indian  village  on  the 
neighboring  shore.  We  were  already  past 
it,  a  half  hour  or  more,  but  canoes  were 
visible.  Nowthiswas  an  episode.  Jack, 
the  cabin-boy,  slid  back  the  blind ;  and  as 
I  sat  up  in  my  bunk,  bolstered  among  the 
pillows,  I  saw  the  green  shore,  moist  with 
dew  and  sparkling  in  the  morning  light, 
sweep  slowly  by  —  an  endless  panorama. 
There  is  no  dust  here,  not  a  particle. 
There  is  rain  at  intervals,  and  a  heavy 
dew-fall,  and  sometimes  a  sea  fog  that 
makes  it  highly  ad\4sable  to  suspend  all 
operations  until  it  has  lifted .  After  coffee 
I  found  the  deck  gaily  peopled.  The 
steamer  was  running  at  half  speed ;  and 
shortly  she  took  a  big  turn  in  a  beautiful 
lagoon  and  went  back  on  her  course  far 
enough  to  come  in  sight  of  the  Indian 
village,  but  we  did  not  stop  there.  It 
seems  that  one  passage  we  were  about  to 
thread  was  reached  at  a  wrong  stage  of 
(66) 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    67 

the  tide ;  and,  instead  of  waiting  there  for 
better  water,  we  loafed  about  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  enjoying  it  immensely,  every 
soul  of  us. 

Vancouver  Island  lay  upon  our  left.  It 
was  half  veiled  in  mist,  or  smoke;  and 
its  brilliant  constellation  of  sky-piercing 
peaks,  green  to  the  summit,  with  glints 
of  sunshine  gilding  the  chasms  here  and 
there,  and  rich  shadows  draping  them 
superbly,  reminded  me  of  Nukahiva,  one 
of  the  Marquesas  Islands — the  one  where 
Herman  Melville  found  his  famed  Typee. 
It  seems  extravagant  to  associate  any 
feature  in  the  Alaskan  archipelago  with 
the  most  romantic  island  in  the  troj^ical 
sea;  but  there  are  points  of  similarity, 
notwithstanding  the  geographical  discrep- 
ancy— daring  outlines,  magnificent  cloud 
and  atmospheric  effects,  and  a  fragrance, 
a  pungent  balsamic  odor  ever  noticeable. 
This  impalpable,  invisible  balm  permeates 
everything ;  it  is  wafted  out  over  the  sea 
to  us,  even  as  the  breath  of  the  Spice 
Islands  is  borne  over  the  waves  to  the  joy 
of  the  passing  mariner. 

Surely  there  can  be  no  finer  tonic  for  a 
fagged  fellow  with  feeble  lungs  than  this 
glorious  Alaskan  air.  There  is  no  danger 
of  surfeit  here;    the  over-sweet  is  not 


68    Over  the  Eocky  Mountains  to  AlasJca. 

likely  to  be  met  with  in  this  latitude;  and, 
then,  if  one  really  feels  the  need  of 
change,  why,  here  i^  a  fishing  station. 
The  forest  is  triramed  along  the  shore  so 
that  there  is  scant  room  for  a  few  shanties 
between  the  water  and  the  wilderness.  A 
dock  runs  but  a  little  way  out  into  the  sea, 
for  the  shores  are  precipitous  and  one 
finds  a  goodly  number  of  fathoms  only  a 
few  yards  from  the  shingle. 

At  the  top  of  the  dock,  sometimes 
nearly  housing  the  whole  of  it,  stands  a 
shed  well  stored  with  barrels,  sacks  of 
salt,  nets,  and  all  the  necessary  equip- 
ments of  a  first-class  fish-canning  estab- 
lishment. A  few  Indian  lodges  are  scat- 
tered along  the  shore.  The  Indians,  a 
hearty  and  apparently  an  industrious  and 
wiUing  race,  do  most  of  the  work  about 
here.  A  few  boats  and  canoes  are  drawn 
up  upon  the  beach.  The  atmosphere  is 
heavy  with  the  odor  of  ancient  fish.  The 
water-line  is  strewn  with  cast-off  salmon 
heads  and  entrails.  Indian  dogs  and  big, 
fat  flies  batten  there  prodigiously.  Acres 
of  salmon  belhes  are  rosy  in  the  sun. 
The  blood-red  interiors  of  drj'ing  fish  — 
rackfuls  of  them  turned  wrong  side  out — 
are  the  only  bit  of  color  in  all  Alaska. 
Everybody  and  everything  is  sombre  and 
subdued. 


Over  thelMocky  Mountcdns  to  AlasJia.    69 

Yet  not  all  fishing  stations  are  cheer- 
less. The  salmon  fishery  and  trading 
store  located  at  Loring  are  picturesque. 
The  land-lock  nook  is  as  lovely  as  a  S"\Yiss 
lake;  and,  oh,  the  myriad  echoes  that 
waken  in  chorus  among  these  misty  moun- 
tains! The  waters  of  the  Alaskan  archi- 
pelago are  prolific.  Vast  shoals  of  sal- 
mon, cod,  herring,  halibut,  mullet,  ulicon, 
etc.,  silver  the  surface  of  the  sea,  and  one 
continually  hears  the  splash  of  leaping 
fish. 

A  traveller  has  written  of  his  visit  to 
the  fishing-grounds  on  the  Naass  river, 
where  the  tribes  had  gathered  for  what  is 
called  their  ''small  fishing" — the  salmon 
catch  is  at  another  time.  These  small  fish 
are  valuable  for  food  and  oil.  They  run 
up  the  river  for  six  weeks  only,  and  with 
the  utmost  regularity.  At  the  point  he 
visited,  the  Naass  was  about  a  mile  and  a 
half  wide ;  yet  so  great  was  the  quantity 
of  fish  that,  with  three  nails  driven  into  a 
stick,  an  Indian  would  rake  up  a  canoeful 
in  a  short  time.  Five  thousand  Indians 
were  congregated  from  British  Columbia 
and  Alaska ;  their  faces  painted  red  and 
black;  feathers  upon  their  heads,  and 
imitations  of  wild  beasts  upon  their 
dresses.     Over  the  fish  was  an  immense 


70   Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

cloud  of  sea-gulls  —  so  many  were  there, 
and  so  thick  were  they,  that  the  fluttering 
of  their  wings  was  like  a  swift  fall  of 
snow.  Over  the  gulls  were  eagles  soaring 
and  watching  their  chance.  The  halibut, 
the  cod,  the  porpoise,  and  the  finback 
whale  had  followed  the  little  ones  out  of 
the  deep ;  and  there  was  confusion  worse 
confounded,  and  chaos  came  again  in  the 
hours  of  wild  excitement  that  followed 
the  advent  of  the  small  fry,  for  each  and 
all  in  sea  and  air  were  bent  upon  the 
destruction  of  these  little  ones. 

Seven  thousand  salmon  have  been 
taken  at  one  haul  of  the  seine  in  this  lati- 
tude. Most  of  these  salmon  weigh  sixty 
pounds  each,  and  some  have  been  caught 
that  weigh  a  hundred  and  twenty  pounds. 
Yet  there  are  no  game  fish  in  Alaska. 
Let  sportsmen  remember  that  far  happier 
hunting  grounds  lie  within  twenty  miles 
of  San  Francisco,  and  in  almost  any  dis- 
trict of  the  Northern  or  Eastern  States. 
On  a  certain  occasion  three  of  our  fellow- 
voyagers,  armed  in  fashionable  fishing 
toggery,  went  forth  from  Sitka  for  a  day's 
sport.  A  steam  launch  bore  them  to  a 
land  where  the  rank  grass  and  rushes 
grew  shoulder  high.  Having  made  their 
way  with  difficulty  to  the  margin  of  a 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    71 

lake,  they  came  upon  a  boat  which  re- 
quired incessant  bailing  to  prevent  its 
speedy  foundering.  One  kept  the  craft 
afloat  while  the  others  fished  until  even- 
ing. They  caught  nothing,  yet  upon 
landing  they  found  five  fish  floundering 
under  the  seats ;  these  swam  in  through  a 
hole  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  I  say 
again,  on  good  authority,  there  are  no 
game  fish  in  Alaska.  There  are  salmon 
enough  in  these  waters  to  supply  the 
world  —  but  the  world  can  be  supplied 
without  coming  to  these  waters  at  all. 
The  trath  is,  I  fear,  that  the  market  has 
been  glutted  and  the  business  overdone. 
One  evening  we  anchored  off  a  sad  and 
silent  shore.  A  few  Indian  lodges  were 
outlined  against  the  woods  beyond.  A 
few  Indians  stolidly  awaited  the  arrival 
of  a  small  boat  containing  one  of  our 
fellow-passengers.  Then  for  some  hours 
this  boat  was  busily  plying  to  and  fro, 
bringing  out  to  us  all  that  was  portable 
of  a  once  flourishing,  or  at  least  promis- 
ing, fishery  and  cannery,  now  defunct. 
Meanwhile  the  mosquitoes  boarded  our 
ship  on  a  far  more  profitable  speculation. 
It  was  pitiful  to  see  our  friend  gathering 
together  the  debris  of  a  wrecked  fortune — 
for  he  had  been  wealthy  and  was  now  on 


72   Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

the  down  grade  of  life  —  hoping  almost 
against  hope  to  be  able  to  turn  an  honest 
penny  somehow,  somewhere,  before  he 
dies. 

At  times  we  saw  solitary  canoes  con- 
taining a  whole  family  of  Indians  fishing 
in  the  watery  waste.  What  solemn  lives 
they  must  lead!  But  a  more  solemn  and 
more  solitary  scene  occurred  a  little  later. 
All  the  afternoon  we  had  been  sailing 
under  splendid  icy  peaks.  We  came  in 
out  of  the  hot  sun,  and  were  glad  of  the 
cool,  snow-chilled  air  that  visited  us 
lightly  at  intervals. 

It  was  the  hour  of  9.30  p.  m.  The  sun 
was  dropping  behind  a  loftly  mountain 
range,  and  in  its  fine  glow  we  steamed 
into  a  lovely  cove  under  a  towering 
height.  A  deserted,  or  almost  deserted, 
fishing  village  stood  upon  a  green  bottom 
land  —  a  mere  handful  of  lodges,  with  a 
young  growth  of  trees  beyond,  and  an 
older  growth  between  these  and  the 
glacier  that  was  glistening  above  them 
all.  A  cannery  looking  nearly  new  stood 
at  the  top  of  a  tall  dock  on  stilts.  On 
the  extreme  end  of  the  dock  was  a  fig- 
ure —  a  man,  and  a  white  man  at  that  — 
with  both  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  an 
attitude  of  half-awakened  curiosity.     The 


Over  the  Rachy  Mountains  to  Alaska.   73 

figure  stood  stock-still.  "We  wondered  if 
it  lived,  if  it  breathed,  or  if  it  was  an 
effigy  set  up  there  in  scorn  of  American 
enterprise.  We  slowed  up  and  drew  near 
to  the  dock.  It  was  a  curious  picture:  a 
half  dozen  log-built  lodges;  a  few  tall 
piles  driven  into  the  land  for  steamer  or 
trading  schooner  to  make  fast  to ;  a  group 
of  Indians  by  a  feeble  camp  fire, — Indians 
who  never  once  changed  their  postures 
more  than  to  wearily  lift  their  heads  and 
regard  us  with  absolute  indifference. 

When  we  were  near  enough  to  hail  the 
motionless  figure  on  the  dock,  we  did  not 
hail  him .  Everybody  was  wildly  curious : 
Everybody  was  perfectly  dumb.  The 
whole  earth  was  silent  at  last ;  the  wheels 
had  stopped ;  the  boat  was  scarcely  mov- 
ing through  the  water.  The  place,  the 
scene,  the  hour  seemed  under  a  spell. 
Then  a  bell  rang  very  shrilly  in  the  deep 
silence ;  the  paddles  plunged  into  the  sea 
again ;  we  made  a  graceful  sweep  under 
the  shadow  of  the  great  mountain  and 
proudly  steamed  away.  Not  a  syllable 
had  been  exchanged  with  that  mysterious 
being  on  the  dock;  we  merely  touched 
our  hats  at  the  last  moment;  he  lifted 
his,  stalked  solemnly  to  the  top  of  the 
dock  and  disappeared.  There  is  a  bit  of 
Alaskan  life  for  you ! 


Chapter  VIII. 

Juneau. 

CITKA,  the  capital  of  Alaska  sleeps, 
save  when  she  is  awakened  for  a  day 
or  two  by  the  arrival  of  a  steamer-load  of 
tourists.  Fort  Wrangell,  the  premature 
offspring  of  a  gold  rumor,  died,  but  rose 
again  from  the  dead  when  the  lust  of  gold 
turned  the  human  tide  toward  the  Klon- 
dike. Juneau,  the  metropolis,  was  the 
only  settlement  that  showed  any  signs  of 
vigor  before  the  Klondike  day;  and  she 
lived  a  not  over-lively  village  life  on  the 
strength  of  the  mines  on  Douglas  Island, 
across  the  narrow  straits.  There  were  sea- 
birds  skimming  the  water  as  we  threaded 
the  labyrinthine  channels  that  surround 
Juneau.  We  were  evidently  not  very  far 
from  the  coast-line;  for  the  gulls  were 
only  occasional  visitors  on  the  Alaskan 
cruise,  though  the  eagles  we  had  always 
with  us.  They  soared  aloft  among  the 
(74) 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    75 

pines  that  crowned  the  mountain  heights ; 
they  glossed  their  wings  in  the  spray  of 
the  sky-tipped  waterfalls,  and  looked 
down  upon  us  from  serene  summits  with 
the  umvinking  eye  of  scorn.  It  is  awfully 
fine  sailing  all  about  Juneau.  Superb 
heights,  snow-capped  in  many  cases, 
forest-clad  in  all,  and  with  cloud  belts  and 
sunshine  minghng  in  the  crystalline  at- 
mosphere, form  a  glorious  picture,  which, 
oddly  enough,  one  does  not  view  with 
amazement  and  dehght,  but  in  the  very 
midst  of  which,  and  a  very  part  of  which, 
he  is;  and  the  proud  consciousness  of 
this  marks  one  of  the  happiest  moments 
of  his  life. 

Steaming  into  a  lagoon  where  its  moun- 
tain walls  are  so  high  it  seemed  hke  a 
watery  way  in  some  prodigious  Venice ; 
steaming  in,  stealing  in  like  a  wraith,  we 
were  shortly  saluted  by  the  miners  on 
Douglas  Island,  who  are,  perhaps,  the 
most  persistent  and  least  harmful  of  the 
dynamiters.  It  was  not  long  before  we 
began  to  get  used  to  the  batteries  that  are 
touched  off  every  few  minutes,  night  and 
day ;  but  how  strange  to  find  in  that  wild 
solitude  a  120-stamp  mill,  electric  lights, 
and  all  the  modern  nuisances!  Never 
was  there  a  greater  contrast  than  the  one 


76    Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

presented  at  Douglas  Island.  The  lagoon, 
with  its  deep,  dark  waters,  still  as  a  dead 
river,  yet  mirroring  the  sea-bird's  wing; 
a  strip  of  beach;  just  above  it  rows  of 
cabins  and  tents  that  at  once  suggest  the 
mining  camps  of  early  California  days; 
then  the  rather  handsome  quarters  of  the 
directors ;  and  then  the  huge  mill,  admi- 
rably constructed  and  set  so  snugly  among 
the  quarries  that  it  seems  almost  a  part  of 
the  ore  mountain  itself;  beyond  that  the 
great  forest,  with  its  eagles  and  big  game ; 
and  the  everlasting  snow  peaks  overtopp- 
ing all,  as  they  lose  themselves  in  the  fair- 
est of  summer  skies.  Small  boats  ply  to 
and  fro  between  Douglas  Island  and 
Juneau,  a  mile  or  more  up  the  inlet  on  the 
opposite  shore.  These  ferries  are  paddled 
leisurely,  and  only  the  explosive  element 
at  Douglas  Island  gives  token  of  the 
acti\dty  that  prevails  at  Gastineaux 
Channel. 

Soon,  weary  of  the  racket  on  Douglas 
Island,  and  expecting  to  inspect  the  mine 
later  on,  we  returned  across  the  water  and 
made  fast  to  the  dock  in  the  lower  end  of 
Juneau.  This  settlement  has  seen  a  good 
deal  of  experience  for  a  young  one.  It 
was  first  known  as  Pilsbury ;  then  some 
humorist  dubbed  it  FUptown.     Later  it 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    77 

was  called  Rockwell  and  Harrisbui'g ;  and 
finally  Juneau,  the  name  it  still  bears 
with  more  or  less  dignity.  The  customary 
Indian  village  hangs  upon  the  borders  of 
the  town;  in  fact,  the  two  wings  of  the 
settlement  are  aboriginal ;  but  the  copper- 
skin  seems  not  particularly  interested  in 
the  progress  of  civilization,  further  than 
the  occasional  chance  it  affords  him  of 
turning  an  honest  penny  in  the  disposal 
of  his  wares. 

No  sooner  was  the  gang-plank  out  than 
we  all  made  a  rush  for  the  trading  stores 
in  search  of  curios.  The  faculty  of 
acquisitiveness  grows  with  what  it  feeds 
on ;  and  before  the  Alaskan  tour  is  over, 
it  almost  amounts  to  a  mania  among  the 
excursionists.  You  should  have  seen  us — 
men,  women  and  children  —  hurrying 
along  the  beach  toward  the  heart  of 
Juneau,  where  we  saw  flags  flying  from 
the  staves  that  stood  by  the  trading- 
stores.  It  was  no  easy  task  to  distance  a 
competitor  in  those  great  thoroughfares. 
Juneau  has  an  annual  rainfall  of  nine 
feet ;  the  streets  are  guttered :  indeed  the 
streets  are  gutters  in  some  cases.  I  know 
of  at  least  one  little  bridge  that  carries 
the  pedestrian  from  one  sidewalk  to 
another,  over  the  muddy  road  below.     I 


78    Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

was  headed  off  on  my  way  to  the  N.  W.  T. 
Co.'s  warehouse,  anc).  sat  me  down  on  a 
stump  to  write  till  the  rush  on  bric-a-brac 
was  over.  Meanwhile  I  noticed  the  shake 
shanties  and  the  pioneers  who  hung  about 
them,  with  their  long  legs  crooked  under 
rush  chairs  in  the  diminutive  verandas. 

Indian  belles  were  out  in  full  feather. 
Some  had  their  faces  covered  with  a  thick 
coating  of  soot  and  oil;  the  rims  of  the 
eyelids,  the  tip  of  the  nose  and  the  inner 
portions  of  the  lips  showing  in  striking 
contrast  to  the  hideous  mask,  which  they 
are  said  to  wear  in  order  to  preserve  their 
complexion.  They  look  for  the  most  part 
like  black-faced  monkeys,  and  appear  in 
this  guise  a  great  portion  of  the  time  in 
order  to  dazzle  the  town,  after  a  scrubb- 
ing, with  skins  as  fair  and  sleek  as  soft- 
soap.  Even  some  of  the  sterner  sex  are 
constrained  to  resort  to  art  in  the  hope  of 
heightening  their  manly  beauty ;  but  these 
are,  of  course,  Alaskan  dudes,  and  as 
such  are  doubtless  pardonable. 

There  is  a  bath-house  in  Juneau  and  a 
barber-shop.  They  did  a  big  business  on 
our  arrival.  There  are  many  billiard  halls, 
where  prohibited  drinks  are  more  or  less 
surreptitiously  obtained.  A  dance-hall 
stands  unin\dtingly  open  to  the  street. 


Over  the  Rochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.    79 

At  the  doorway,  as  we  passed  it,  was 
posted  a  hand-lettered  placard  announc- 
ing that  the  ladies  of  Juneau  would  on  the 
evening  in  question  give  a  grand  ball  in 
honor  of  the  passengers  of  the  Ancon. 
Tickets,  50  cents. 

It  began  to  drizzle.  We  dodged  under 
the  narrow  awnings  of  the  shops,  and 
bargained  blindly  in  the  most  unmusical 
lingos.  Within  were  to  be  had  stores  of 
toy  canoes  —  graceful  little  things  hewn 
after  the  Haida  model,  with  prows  and 
sides  painted  in  strange  hieroglyphics; 
paddles  were  there — life-size,  so  to  speak, 
— gorgeously  dyed,  and  just  the  things  for 
hall  decorations;  also  dishes  of  carved 
wood  of  quaint  pattern,  and  some  of  them 
quite  ancient,  were  to  be  had  at  very 
moderate  prices ;  pipes  and  pipe-bowls  of 
the  weirdest  description;  halibut  fish- 
hooks, looking  like  anything  at  all  but 
fish-hooks;  Shaman  rattles,  grotesque 
in  design;  Thhnket  baskets,  beautifully 
plaited  and  stained  with  subdued  dyes  — 
the  most  popular  of  souvenirs;  spoons 
with  bone  bowls  and  handles  carved  from 
the  horns  of  the  mountain  goat  or  musk- 
ox  ;  even  the  big  horn-spoon  itself  was  no 
doubt  made  by  these  ingenious  people; 
Indian  masks  of  wood,  inlaid  with  abalone 


80    Over  the  Bocki/  Jloiodahs  to  Alaslia. 

shells,  bears'  teeth,  or  lucky  stones  from 
the  head  of  the  catfish ;  Indian  wampum ; 
deer-skin  sacks  filled  with  the  smooth, 
pencil-shaped  sticks  with  which  the  native 
sport  passes  the  merry  hours  away  in 
games  of  chance;  bangles  without  end, 
and  rings  of  the  clumsiest  description 
hammered  out  of  silver  coin;  bows  and 
arrows;  doll  papooses,  totum  poles  in 
miniature.  There  were  garments  made  of 
fish-skins  and  bird-skins,  smelhng  of  oil 
and  semi-transparent,  as  if  saturated  with 
it;  and  half -musical  instruments,  or  im- 
plements, made  of  twigs  strung  full  of  the 
beaks  of  birds  that  clattered  with  a  weird, 
unearthly  Alaskan  clatter. 

There  were  little  graven  images,  a  few 
of  them  looking  somewhat  idolatrous; 
and  heaps  upon  heaps  of  nameless  and 
shapeless  odds  and  ends  that  boasted 
more  or  less  bead-work  in  the  line  of 
ornamentation ;  but  all  chiefly  noticeable 
for  the  lack  of  taste  displayed,  both  in 
design  and  the  combination  of  color.  The 
Chilkat  blanket  is  an  exception  to  the 
Alaskan  Indian  rule.  It  is  a  handsome 
bit  of  embroidery,  of  significant  though 
mysterious  design;  rich  in  color,  and 
with  a  deep,  knotted  fringe  on  the  lower 
edge  —  just  the  thing  for  a  lambrequin, 


Over  the  Rocky  Mounta'ms  to  Alaska.    81 

and  to  be  had  in  Juneau  for  $40,  which  is 
only  $15  more  than  is  asked  for  the  same 
article  in  Portland,  Oregon,  as  some  of 
us  discovered  to  our  cost.  There  were 
quantities  of  skins  miserably  cured,  im- 
pregnating the  air  with  vilest  odors ;  and 
these  were  waved  at  you  and  wafted  after 
you  at  every  step.  In  the  forest  which 
suddenly  terminates  at  the  edge  of  the 
town  there  is  game  worth  hunting.  The 
whistler,  reindeer,  mountain  sheep  and 
goat,  ermine,  musk-rat,  marmet,  wolf 
and  bear,  are  tracked  and  trapped  by  the 
red-man ;  but  I  doubt  if  the  foot  of  the 
white-man  is  likely  to  venture  far  into  the 
almost  impenetrable  confusion  of  logs  and 
brush  that  is  the  distinguishing  feature  of 
the  Alaskan  wilderness .  Beautiful  antlers 
are  to  be  had  in  Juneau  and  elsewhere ; 
and  perhaps  a  cinnamon  or  a  black  cub 
as  playful  as  a  puppy,  and  full  of  a  kind 
of  half -savage  fun. 

In  the  upper  part  of  the  town,  where 
the  stumps  and  brush  are  thickest,  there 
are  cosy  little  log-cabins,  and  garden 
patches  that  seem  to  be  making  the  most 
of  the  summer  sunshine.  In  the  window 
of  one  of  these  cabins  we  saw  a  face  — 
dusky,  beautiful,  sensitive.  Dreamy  eyes 
slumbered  under  fringes  that  might  have 


82    Over  the  Eocky  Moimtains  to  Alaska. 

won  a  song  from  a  Persian  poet ;  admi- 
rably proportioned  features,  delicious 
lips,  almost  persuaded  us  that  a  squaw- 
man  might  in  some  cases  be  excusable  for 
his  infatuation.  Later  we  discovered  that 
the  one  beauty  of  Alaska  was  of  Hawaiian 
parentage;  that  she  was  married,  and  was 
as  shy  of  intruders  as  a  caged  bird.  Very 
dissimilar  are  the  ladies  of  Juneau. 

In  the  evening  the  town-crier  went  to 
and  fro  announcing  the  opening  of  the 
ball.  It  was  still  drizzling ;  the  chffs  that 
tower  above  the  metropohs  were  capped 
with  cloud;  slender,  rain-born  rivulets 
plunged  from  these  airy  heights  into 
space  and  were  blown  away  like  smoke. 
Sometimes  we  caught  glimj)ses  of  white, 
moving  objects,  far  aloft  against  the  black 
wall  of  rock:  these  were  mountain  sheep. 

The  cannonading  at  Douglas  Island 
continued  —  muffled  thunder  that  ceases 
neither  night  nor  day.  Nobody  seemed  to 
think  of  sleeping.  The  dock  was  swarm- 
ing with  Indians ;  you  would  have  known 
it  with  your  eyes  shut,  from  the  musky 
odor  that  permeated  every  quarter  of  the 
ship.  The  deck  was  filled  with  passengers, 
chatting,  reading,  smoking,  looking  off 
upon  the  queer  little  town  and  wondering 
what  its  future  was  likely  to  be.     And  so, 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    83 

we  might  have  hngered  on  indefinitely, 
with  the  hght  of  a  dull  day  above  us  —  a 
light  that  was  to  grow  no  less  till  dawn, 
for  there  is  no  night  there,  —  were  it  not 
that  some  one  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
lo !  it  was  the  midnight  hour. 

Then  we  went  to  the  ball  given  by  the 
ladies  of  Juneau  in  our  honor.  Half  a 
dozen  young  Indian  maidens  sat  on  a 
bench  against  the  wall  and  munched  pea- 
nuts while  they  smiled ;  a  few  straggling 
settlers  gathered  at  the  bar  while  they 
smiled ;  two  fiddlers  and  a  guitar  made  as 
merry  as  they  could  under  the  circum- 
stances in  an  alcove  at  the  top  of  the  hall. 
Round  dances  were  in  vogue,  —  round 
dances  interspersed  with  flirtations  and 
fire-water ;  round  dances  that  grew  oblong 
and  irregular  before  sunrise  —  and  yet  it 
was  sunrise  at  the  unearthly  hour  of  3.30 
a.  m. ,  or  thereabout.  We  all  felt  as  if  we 
had  been  cheated  out  of  something  when 
we  saw  his  coming;  but  perhaps  it  was 
only  the  summer  siesta  that  had  been  cut 
short, — the  summer  siesta  that  here  passes 
for  the  more  wholesome  and  old-fashioned 
sleep  of  the  world  lower  down  on  the  map. 

During  the  night,  having  discharged 
freight  and  exhausted  the  resources  of 
Juneau,  including  a  post-office,   and  a 


84    Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

post-mistress  who  sorts  the  mail  twice  a 
month  we  steamed  back  to  Douglas 
Island,  and  dropped  many  fathoms  of 
noisy  chain  into  the  deep  abreast  of  the 
camp.  The  eve  of  the  Fourth  in  the 
United  States  of  America  is  nothing  in 
comparison  with  the  everlasting  racket  at 
this  wonderful  mine.  The  iron  jaws  of 
the  120-stamp  mill  grind  incessantly, 
spitting  pulverized  rock  and  ore  into  the 
vats  that  quake  under  the  mastication  of 
the  mighty  molars;  cars  slip  down  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and  emerge  laden 
with  precious  freight ;  multitudinous  min- 
ers relieve  one  another,  watch  and  watch. 
Electric  light  banishes  even  a  thought  of 
dusk ;  and  were  it  now  winter — the  long, 
dark,  dreary  winter  of  the  North,  with 
but  half  a  dozen  hours  of  legitimate  day- 
light out  of  the  four  and  twenty  —  the 
work  at  Douglas  Island  would  go  on  tri- 
umphantly ;  and  it  will  go  forever  —  or, 
rather,  until  the  bottom  drops  out  of  the 
mine,  just  as  it  drops  out  of  everything 
in  this  life.  All  night  long  the  terrible 
rattle  and  rumble  and  roar  of  the  explosive 
agent  robbed  us  of  our  rest.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  but  the  gnomes  of  the ' 
German  fairy  tale ;  the  dwarfs  of  the  black 
mountain,  with  their  glowworm  lamps. 


Over  the  RocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska.    85 

darting  in  and  out  of  the  tunnels  in  the 
earth  like  moles,  and  heaping  together 
the  riches  that  are  the  cause  of  so  much 
pleasure  and  pain,  and  envy  and  despair, 
and  sorrow  and  sin,  and  too  often  death. 


-7^ 


Chapter  IX. 

By  Solitary  Shores. 

"pROBABLY  no  one  leaves  Juneau 
with  regret.  Far  more  enjoyable  was 
the  day  we  spent  in  Ward's  Cove,  land- 
locked, wooded  to  the  water's  edge,  and 
with  forty-five  fathoms  of  water  of  the 
richest  sea-green  hue.  Here  lay  the  Pinta 
smdihe Paterson,  two  characteristic  repre- 
sentatives of  the  United  States  Navy  — 
as  it  was  before  the  war  —  the  former  a 
promoted  tug-boat,  equipped  at  an  ex- 
pense of  $100,000,  and  now  looking  top- 
heavy  and  unseaworthy,  but  just  the  thing 
for  a  matinee  performance  of  Pinafore,  if 
that  were  not  out  of  date. 

This  Pinta,  terrible  as  a  canal-boat, 
armed  to  the  teeth,  drew  up  under  our 
quarter  to  take  in  coal.  You  see  the 
Ancon  combined  business  with  pleasure, 
and  distributed  coal  in  quantities  to  suit 
throughout  the  Alaskan  lagoon.  Now, 
there  is  not  much  fun  in  coahng,  even 
(86) 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.   87 

when  a  craft  as  funny  as  the  Pinta  is 
snuggling  up  under  your  quarter,  looking 
more  like  the  Pinafore  than  ever,  with 
her  skylarking  sailors,  midshipmite  and 
all;  so  Captain  Carroll  secured  a  jaunty 
httle  steam-launch,  and  away  we  went  on 
a  picnic  in  the  forest  primeval.  The 
launch  was  laden  to  the  brim;  three  of 
our  biggest  boats  were  in  tow ;  an  abun- 
dant collation,  in  charge  of  a  corps  of 
cabin-boys,  gave  assurance  of  success  in 
one  line  at  least. 

We  explored.  Old  Vancouver  did  the 
same  thing  long  ago,  and  no  doubt  found 
these  shores  exactly  as  we  find  them  to- 
day. We  entered  a  shallow  creek  at  the 
top  of  the  cove ;  landed  on  a  dreary  point 
redolent  of  stale  fish,  and  the  beach 
literally  alive  and  creeping  with  small 
worms  above  half  an  inch  in  length.  A 
solitary  squaw  was  splitting  salmon  for 
drying.  She  remained  absorbed  in  her 
work  while  we  gathered  about  and  re- 
garded her  with  impudent  curiosity. 
Overcome  by  the  fetid  air  of  the  place, 
we  re-embarked  and  steamed  gaily  miles 
away  over  the  sparkling  sea. 

In  an  undiscovered  country  —  so  it 
seemed  to  us — we  came  to  a  smooth  and 
sandy  strip  of  shore  and  landed  there. 


88   Over  the  Bochy  Mountains  to  Alaska, 

But  a  few  paces  from  the  lightly-breaking 
ripples  was  the  forest — and  such  a  forest ! 
There  were  huge  trees,  looking  centuries 
old,  swathed  in  blankets  of  moss,  and  the 
moss  gray  with  age.  Impenetrable  depths 
of  shadow  overhead,  impenetrable  depths 
of  litter  under  foot.  Log  had  fallen  upon 
log  crosswise  and  at  every  conceivable 
angle. 

Out  of  the  fruitful  dust  of  these  deposed 
monarchs  of  the  forest  sprang  a  numerous 
progeny  —  lusty  claimants,  every  one  of 
them,  —  their  foliage  feathery  and  of  the 
most  delicate  green,  being  fed  only  by 
the  thin  sunshine  that  sifts  through  the 
dense  canopy,  supported  far  aloft  by  the 
majestic  columns  that  clustered  about  us. 
Under  foot  the  russet  moss  was  of  aston- 
ishing depth  and  softness.  One  walks 
with  care  upon  it,  for  the  foot  breaks 
through  the  thick  matting  that  has  in 
many  cases  spread  from  log  to  log,  hiding 
treacherous  traps  beneath.  The  ferns 
luxuriate  in  this  sylvan  paradise;  and 
many  a  beautiful  shrub,  new  to  us,  bore 
flowers  that  blushed  unseen  until  we  made 
our  unexpected  and  perhaps  unwelcome 
appearance. 

Here  we  camped .  The  cloth  was  spread 
in  a  temple  not  made  with  hands ;  how 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    89 

hard  it  is  to  avoid  ringing  in  these  Uttle 
old-time  tags  about  flowers  and  forests! 
The  viands  were  deftly  served ;  the  merry 
jest  went  round,  and  sometimes  came 
back  the  same  way,  ''returned  with 
thanks."  And  thus  we  revelled  in  the 
midst  of  a  solitude  that  may  never  before 
have  been  broken  by  the  sound  of  human 
voice.  When  we  held  our  peace — which 
we  did  at  long  intervals,  and  for  a  brief 
moment  only  —  we  realized  this  solemn 
fact;  but  it  didn't  seem  to  impress  us 
much  on  the  spot.  Why,  even  the  birds 
were  silent.  Only  the  sea-gulls  flashed 
their  white  wings  under  the  boughs  in 
the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  wheeled  away 
in  dizzy  circles,  piping  sharp,  peevish 
cries. 

It  was  a  delightful  day  we  passed  to- 
gether. The  memory  of  it  is  one  of  the 
most  precious  souvenirs  of  the  Alaskan 
tour ;  and  it  was  with  reluctance  that  we 
returned  to  the  ship,  after  consulting  our 
watches  with  astonishment ;  for  the  late 
hours  gave  no  warning,  and  we  might 
have  passed  the  night  there  in  the  loveli- 
est of  twilights. 

The  Pinta  was  about  to  withdraw  to 
her  anchorage  as  we  boarded  the  Ancon ; 
and  then,  too  late,  I  discovered  among  the 


90    Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska, 

officers  of  that  terror  of  the  sea  an  old 
friend  with  whom  I  had  revelled  in  the 
halcyon  days  at  Stag  Racket  Bungalow, 
Honolulu.  He  was  then  on  the  U.  S. 
man-of-war,  Alaska  of  jolly  memory; 
and  he,  with  his  companions,  constituted 
the  crack  mess  of  the  navy.  But  the 
Alaska  is  a  sheer  hulk,  and  her  once 
jovial  crew  scattered  hither  and  you;  he 
alone,  in  the  solitude  of  these  unfreighted 
waters,  remains  to  tell  the  tale.  I  thought 
it  a  happy  coincidence  that,  having  met 
him  first  under  Old  Glory,  then  floating 
in  the  trade  mnd  that  blew  over  southern 
seas,  I  should  find  him  last  in  the  lone 
land  that  gave  name  to  the  ship  that 
brought  him  over.  Can  the  theosophists 
unravel  this  mystery,  or  see  aught  in  it 
that  verges  upon  the  mystic  philosophy? 
As  we  steamed  out  of  Wood's  Cove  that 
night,  with  the  echoes  of  a  parting  salute 
filling  the  heavens  to  overflowing,  we  saw 
a  cluster  of  small,  dark  islets  in  the  fore- 
ground ;  shining  waters  beyond  flowed  to 
the  foot  of  far-away  mountains ;  a  silvery 
sky  melted  into  gold  as  it  neared  the 
horizon:  this  picture,  as  delicate  in  tint 
as  the  most  exquisite  water-color,  was 
framed  in  a  setting  of  gigantic  pines ;  and 
it  was  by  this  fairy  portal  we  entered  the 
sea  of  ice. 


Over  the  BocJcy  fountains  to  Alaska.    91 

From  solitude  to  solitude  is  the  order 
in  Alaska.  The  solitude  of  the  forest  aud 
the  sea,  of  the  mountain  and  ra"sdne,  — 
with  these  we  had  become  more  or  less 
familiar  when  our  good  ship  headed  for 
the  solitude  of  ice  and  snow.  I  began  to 
feel  as  if  we  were  being  dragged  out  on 
the  roof  of  the  world  —  as  if  we  were 
swimming  in  the  flooded  eaves  of  a  con- 
tinent. Sometimes  there  came  over  me  a 
sense  of  loneliness  —  of  the  distance  that 
lay  between  us  and  everybody  else,  and  of 
the  helplessness  of  our  case  should  any 
serious  accident  befall  us.  It  is  this  very 
state,  perhaps,  that  ages  the  hearts  of  the 
hardiest  of  the  explorers  who  seek  vainly 
to  unravel  the  polar  mystery. 

From  time  to  time  as  we  sailed,  the  sea, 
now  a  brighter  blue  than  ever,  was  strewn 
with  fragments  of  ice.  Very  lovely  they 
looked  as  they  hugged  the  distant  shore ; 
a  ghostly  and  fantastical  procession,  borne 
ever  southward  by  the  slow  current ;  and 
growing  more  ghostly  and  fantastical  hour 
by  hour,  as  they  dwindled  in  the  clear 
sunshine  of  the  long  summer  days.  Anon 
the  ice  fragments  increased  in  number 
and  dimensions.  The  whole  watery  ex- 
panse was  covered  with  brash,  and  we 
were  obliged  to  pick  our  way  with  con- 


92    Oier  tJie  Bocky  fountains  to  Alaska. 

siderable  caution.  At  times  we  narrowly 
escaped  grazing  small  icebergs,  that  might 
have  disabled  us  had  we  come  in  collision 
with  them.  As  it  was,  many  an  ice-cake 
that  looked  harmless  enough,  being  very 
low  in  the  water,  struck  us  with  a  thud 
that  was  startling;  or  passed  under  our 
old-fashioned  side-wheels,  splintering  the 
paddles  and  causing  our  hearts  to  leap 
within  us.  A  disabled  wheel  meant  a 
tedious  delay  in  a  latitude  where  the  re- 
sources are  decidedly  limited.  Often  we 
thought  of  the  miserable  millions  away 
down  East  simmering  in  the  sultry  sum- 
mer heat,  while  the  tliermometer  with  us 
stood  at  45  degrees  in  the  sun,  and  the 
bracing  salt  air  was  impregnated  with 
balsamic  odors. 

In  this  delectable  state  we  sighted  a 
bouncing  baby  iceberg,  and  at  once  made 
for  it  with  the  enthusiasm  of  veritable 
discoverers.  It  was  pretty  to  see  with 
what  discretion  we  approached  and  circled 
round  it,  searching  for  the  most  favorable 
point  of  attack.  So  much  of  an  iceberg 
is  beneath  the  surface  of  the  water,  ballast- 
ing the  whole,  that  it  is  rather  ticklish 
business  cruising  in  its  vicinity.  We  lay 
off  and  on,  coquetting  with  the  little 
beauty,  while  one  of  our  boats  pulled  up 


Over  the  BocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska.    93 

to  it,  and  threw  a  lariat  over  a  glittering 
peak  that  flamed  in  the  sun  like  a  torch. 
Then  we  drew  in  the  slack  and  made  fast, 
while  a  half  dozen  of  our  men  mounted 
the  shppery  mass,  armed  with  ropes  and 
axes,  and  began  to  hack  off  big  chunks, 
which  were  in  due  season  transferred  to 
our  iceboxes. 

Our  iceberg  was  about  fifty  feet  in 
length  and  twenty  or  thirty  feet  out  of 
the  water.  It  was  a  ghttering  island,  with 
savage  peaks,  deep  valleys,  bluffs,  and 
promontories.  The  edges  were  delicately 
frilled  and  resembled  silver  filigree.  Some 
of  these,  which  were  transparent  and  as 
daintily  turned  as  old  Venetian  glass, 
dripped  continually  like  rain-beaten  eaves. 
The  portions  nearest  the  water's  edge 
was  honeycombed  by  the  wavelets  that 
dashed  upon  it  without  ceasing,  rushing 
in  and  out  of  the  small,  luminous  caverns 
in  swift,  sparkhng  rivulets.  Much  of  the 
surface  was  crusted  with  a  fine  frosting ; 
it  was  full  of  wells  deep  enough  to  sink 
a  man  in.  These  wells  were  filled  with 
water,  and  with  a  blue  light,  celestial  in  its 
loveliness, — a  light  ethereal  and  pellucid. 
It  was  as  if  the  whole  iceberg  were  sat- 
urated mth  transfused  moonbeams,  that 
gave    forth   a    mellow    radiance,   which 


94   Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

flashed  at  times  like  brilliants,  and  burst 
into  flame  and  plaid  like  lightning  along 
the  almost  invisible  nms  and  ridges.  The 
unspeakable,  the  incomprehensible  light 
throbbed  through  and  through ;  and  was 
sometimes  bluish  green  and  sometimes 
greenish  blue ;  but  of tenest  with  the  one 
was  the  other,  both  at  once,  and  with  a 
perfectly  bewildering  tint  added,  —  in  a 
word,  it  was  frozen  moonlight  and  no 
mistake.  O  my  friend,  I  assure  you  there 
are  many  famous  sports  with  not  half 
the  fun  in  them  that  there  is  in  lassoing 
an  iceberg ! 

Once  more  I  turn  to  my  note-books.  I 
find  that  the  morning  had  been  foggy; 
that  we  could  see  scarcely  a  ship's  length 
ahead  of  us ;  that  the  water  was  like  oil 
beneath  and  the  mists  like  snow  above 
and  about,  while  we  groped  blindly.  Of 
course  we  could  not  press  forward  under 
the  circumstances;  for  we  were  sur- 
rounded by  islands  great  and  small,  and 
any  one  of  these  might  silently  materiahze 
at  a  moment's  notice;  but  we  were  not 
idle.  Now  and  again  our  paddles  beat 
the  water  impetuously,  and  they  hung 
dripping,  while  the  sea  stretched  around 
us  as  we  leisurely  drifted  on  like  a  larger 
bubble  in  danger  of  bursting  upon  an  un- 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.    95 

expected  rock.  We  sounded  frequently. 
There  was  an  abundance  of  water — there 
nearly  always  is  throughout  the  Alaskan 
archipelago ;  enough  and  to  spare ;  but  the 
abrupt  shore  might  be  but  a  stone 's-throw 
from  us  on  the  one  hand  or  the  other. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  In  the  vast  still- 
ness we  blew  a  blast  on  our  shrill  whistle, 
and  listened  for  the  echo.  Sometimes  it 
returned  to  us  almost  on  the  instant  and 
we  cried,  ''Halt!"  When  we  halted  or 
veered  off,  creeping  as  it  were  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  oily  sea,  sometimes  a  faint  or 
far-off  whisper — "the  horns  of  elf -land' ' — 
gave  us  assurance  of  plenty  of  space  and 
the  sea-room  we  were  sorely  in  need  of 
just  then.  Once  we  saw  looming  right 
under  our  prow  a  little  islet  with  a  tuft  of 
fir-trees  crowning  it  —  the  whole  worthy 
to  be  made  the  head-piece  or  tail-piece  to 
some  poem  on  solitude.  It  was  very 
picturesque ;  but  it  seemed  to  be  crouching 
there,  lying  in  wait  for  us,  ready  to  arch 
its  back  the  moment  we  came  within 
reach.  The  rapidity  with  which  we 
backed  out  of  that  predicament  left  us  no 
time  for  apologies. 

Again  we  got  some  distance  up  the 
wrong  channel.  When  the  fog  lifted  for 
a  moment,  we  discovered  the  error,  put 


96   Over  the  Rochy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

about  without  more  ado,  and  went  around 
the  block  in  a  hurry.  Meanwhile  we  had 
schooled  our  ears  to  detect  the  most  deh- 
cate  shades  of  sound ;  to  measure  or  weigh 
each  individual  echo  with  an  accuracy  that 
gave  us  the  utmost  self-satisfaction .  Per- 
haps Captain  Carroll  or  Captain  Greorge, 
who  was  spying  out  the  land  with  his  ears, 
would  not  have  trusted  the  ship  in  our 
keeping  for  five  minutes — but  no  matter. 

Presently  the  opaque  atmosphere  began 
to  dissolve  away ;  and  as  the  sun  brushed 
the  webs  from  his  face,  and  darted  sharp 
beams  upon  the  water  all  at  once  in  a 
shower,  the  fog-banks  went  to  pieces  and 
rolled  away  in  sections  out  of  sight,  like 
the  transformation  scene  in  a  Christmas 
pantomime.  And  there  we  were  in  the 
very  centre  of  the  smiling  island  world, 
with  splendid  snow  peaks  towering  all 
about  us;  and  such  a  flood  of  blue  sky 
and  bluer  water,  golden  sunshine  and 
gilded  fields  of  snow,  of  jetting  shores 
clad  in  perennial  verdure,  and  eagles  and 
sea-birds  wheeling  round  about  us,  as  can 
be  seen  nowhere  else  in  the  wide  world 
to  the  same  advantage. 

We  were  entering  a  region  of  desola- 
tion. The  ice  was  increasing,  and  the 
water  took    that    ghastly    hue,   even  a 


Over  the  Bochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.   97 

glimpse  of  which  is  enough  to  chill  the 
marrow  in  one's  bones.  Vegetation  was 
dying  out.  A  canoe-full  of  shivering 
Indians  were  stemming  the  icy  flood  in 
search  of  some  chosen  fishery,  —  all  of 
them  blanketed,  and  all  —  squaw  as  well 
as  papooses — taking  a  turn  at  the  paddle. 
These  were  the  children  of  Nature,  whose 
song-birds  are  the  screaming  eagle,  the 
croaking  raven,  and  the  crying  sea-doves 
blown  inland  by  the  wild  westerly  gales. 
We  were  now  nearly  within  sound  of 
the  booming  glaciers;  and  as  we  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  I  could  but  brood  over 
the  oft  imagined  picture  of  that  vast  ter- 
ritory— our  Alaska, — where,  beyond  that 
mountain  range,  the  almost  interminable 
winter  is  scarcely  habitable,  and  the  sum- 
mers so  brief  it  takes  about  six  of  them 
to  make  a  swallow. 


Chapter  X. 
In  Search  of  the  Totem-Pole. 

TTOUR  after  hour  and  day  after  day 
•^"^  we  are  coasting  along  shores  that 
become  monotonous  in  their  beauty.  For 
leagues  the  sea-washed  roots  of  the  forest 
present  a  fairly  impassable  barrier  to 
the  foot  of  man.  It  is  only  at  infrequent 
intervals  that  a  human  habitation  is 
visible,  and  still  more  seldom  does  the  eye 
discover  a  solitary  canoe  making  its  way 
among  the  inextricable  confusion  of  in- 
lets. Sometimes  a  small  cluster  of  Indian 
lodges  enlivens  the  scene;  and  this  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  enliven  it,  for  most 
Indian  lodges  are  as  forlorn  as  a  last 
year's  bird's-nest.  Sometimes  a  bright 
little  village  gives  hope  of  a  break  in  the 
serenity  of  the  season  —  a  few  hours  on 
shore  and  an  extra  page  or  two  in  our 
log-books.  Yet  again,  sometimes  it  is  a 
green  jungle,  above  the  sea,  out  of  which 
rise  dimunitive  box-houses,  like  exagger- 
ated dove-cotes,  with  a  goodly  number 
(98) 


Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.   99 

of  towering  cedar  columns,  curiously 
carved,  perhaps  stained  black  or  red  in 
patches,  scattered  through  them.  These 
are  Indian  cemeteries.  They  are  hedged 
about  with  staves,  from  the  top  of  which 
flutter  ragged  streamers.  They  are  rich 
in  rude  car^dngs  of  men  and  birds  and 
beasts .  Now  and  again  a  shield  as  big  as  a 
target,  and  looking  not  unlike  an  archery- 
target,  marks  the  tomb  of  some  warrior. 
The  unerring  shafts  of  death  search  out 
the  obscurest  handf  uls  of  people  scattered 
through  these  wide  domains ;  and  every 
village  has  its  solemn  suburb,  where  the 
houses  of  the  dead  are  decorated  with 
barbaric  bric-a-brac. 

Many  of  the  tombs  are  above  ground — 
airy  sarcophagi  on  high  poles  rocking  in 
the  wind  and  the  rain.  Some  are  nearer 
the  earth,  like  old-fashioned  four-poster 
bed-steads ;  and  there  the  dead  sleep  well. 
Others  are  of  stone,  with  windows  and 
peaked  roofs,  —  very  comfortable  recep- 
tacles. But  most  of  the  bodies  are  below 
ground,  and  the  last  vestiges  of  their 
graves  are  lost  in  the  depths  of  the  jungle. 
Incineration  is  not  uncommon  in  Alaska, 
and  in  such  cases  the  ashes  are  distributed 
among  the  winds  and  waves.  Birds  feast 
upon  the  bodies  of  certain  tribes — meat- 


100  Over  the  BocTcy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

offerings,  very  gracious  in  the  sight  of 
the  Death  Angel ;  but  by  far  the  larger 
portion  find  decent  burial,  and  they  are 
all  long  and  loudly  and  sincerely  mourned. 

We  awoke  one  morning  at  Casa-an,  and 
found  ourselves  made  fast  to  a  dock.  On 
the  dock  was  a  salmon-house,  or  shed,  a 
veiy  laboratory  of  ancient  and  fish-like 
smells.  It  was  not  long  before  the  tide 
slipped  away  from  us  and  left  the  steamer 
resting  easily  on  her  beam-ends  in  shallow 
water.  We  were  prisoners  for  a  few  hours ; 
but  we  were  glad  of  this,  for  eveiy  hour 
was  of  interest  to  us.  This  was  our  first 
chance  to  thoroughly  explore  an  Indian 
village;  and,  oh!  the  dogs,  cousins-ger- 
man  to  the  coyotes,  that  shook  off  their 
flees  and  bayed  us  dismally !  Lodges  of 
the  rudest  sort  were  scattered  about  in 
the  most  convenient  localities.  As  for 
streets  or  lanes,  there  were  none  visible. 
The  majority  of  the  lodges  were  con- 
structed of  hemlock  bark  or  of  rough 
slabs,  gaudily  festooned  with  spht  salmon 
drying  in  the  sun.  The  lodges  are  square, 
with  roofs  slightly  inclined;  they  are  win- 
dowless  and  have  but  one  narrow  door 
about  shoulder  high. 

The  Casa-an  Indians  are  a  tribe  of  the 
Haidas,  the  cleverest  of  the  northern  races. 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  101 

They  are  expert  craftsmen.     From  a  half 
dollar  they  will  hammer  out  or  mold  a 
bangle  and  cover  it  with  chasing  very 
deftly  cut.     Their  wood-carvings,  medi- 
cine-man  rattles,   spoons,  broth  bowls, 
and  the  like,  are  curious;  but  the  demand 
for  bangles  keeps    the  more  ingenious 
busy  in  this  branch  of  industry.    Unfort- 
unately, some  simple  voyager  gave  the 
rude  silversmiths  a  bangle  of  the  conven- 
tional type,  and  this  is  now  so  cunningly 
imitated  that  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
secure  a  specimen  of  Haida  work  of  the 
true  Indian  pattern.     Very  shortly  the 
Indian  villages  of  Alaska  will  be  stocked 
with  curios  of  genuine  California  manu- 
facture.    The  supply  of  antiquities  and 
originals  has  been  already  nearly,  if  not 
quite,  exhausted.  It  is  said  that  no  sooner 
is  the  boom  of  the  paddle-wheel  heard  in 
the  noiseless  Alaskan  sea  than  the  Indian 
proceeds  to  empty  of  its  treasures  his 
cedar  chest  or  his  red  Chinese  box  studded 
with  brass  nails,    and  long  before ^  the 
steamer  heaves  in   sight    the  primitive 
bazar  is  ready  for  the  expected  customer. 
There  is  much  haggling  over  the  price  of 
a  curio,  and  but  little  chance  of  a  bargain. 
If  one  has  his  eye  upon  some  coveted 
object,  he  had  best  purchase  it  at  once  at 


102  Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska, 

the  first  figure;  for  the  Indian  is  not 
likely  to  drop  a  farthing,  and  there  are 
others  who  will  gladly  outbid  the  hesitat- 
ing shopper. 

Time  is  no  object  in  the  eyes  of  these 
people.  If  an  Indian  thought  he  could 
make  a  quarter  more  on  the  sale  of  a 
curio  by  holding  it  a  month  longer,  until 
the  arrival  of  the  next  excursion  boat,  or 
even  by  getting  into  his  canoe  and  pad- 
dling a  day  or  two  over  to  the  next  settle- 
ment, he  would  as  lief  do  it  as  not.  By 
the  merest  chance  I  drew  from  a  heap  of 
rubbish  in  the  corner  of  a  lodge  a  Shaman 
rattle,  unquestionably  genuine.  This 
Shaman  rattle  is  a  quaintly  carved  rattle- 
box,  such  as  is  used  by  sorcerers  or  medi- 
cine-men in  propitiation  of  the  e^'il  spirit 
at  the  bedside  of  the  djdng.  The  one  I 
have  was  not  offered  for  sale,  nor  did  the 
possessor  seem  to  place  much  value  on  it ; 
yet  he  would  not  budge  one  jot  or  tittle 
in  the  price  he  first  set  upon  it,  and  seem- 
ingly set  at  a  guess.  Its  discovery  was  a 
piece  of  pure  luck,  but  I  would  not  ex- 
change it  for  any  other  curio  which  I 
chanced  to  see  during  the  whole  voyage. 

In  one  of  the  lodges  at  Casa-an  a  chief 
lay  dying.  He  was  said  to  be  the  last  of 
his  race ;  and,  judging  from  appearances, 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  103 

his  hours  were  fast  drawing  to  a  close. 
He  was  breathing  painfully ;  his  face  was 
turned  to  the  wall.  Two  or  three  other 
Indians  sat  silently  about,  stirring  at  in- 
vals  a  bright  wood-fire  that  burned  in  the 
centre  of  the  lodge.  The  curhng  smoke 
floated  gracefully  through  a  hole  in  the 
roof  —  most  of  it,  but  not  quite  all.  As 
we  entered  (we  were  in  search  of  the 
dying  chief ;  for,  as  he  seemed  to  be  the 
one  lion  in  the  settlement,  his  fame  was 
soon  noised  abroad)  we  found  that  the 
evangehst  had  forestalled  us.  He  was 
asking  the  price  of  salmon  in  San  Fran- 
cisco ;  but  upon  our  appearance  he  added, 
solemnly  enough:  ''Well,  we  all  must 
die  —  Indians  and  all."  An  interpreter 
had  reluctantly  been  pressed  into  sei*vice ; 
but  as  the  missionary  work  was  not  pro- 
gressing, the  evangelist  dropped  the  inter- 
preter, rolled  up  his  spiritual  sleeves  and 
pitched  in  as  follows : 

"Say,  you  Injun!  you  love  God?  You 
love  Grreat  Spirit?"  No  answer  came 
from  the  thin,  drawn  lips,  tightly  com- 
pressed and  visible  just  over  the  blankets 
edge  in  the  corner  of  the  lodge.  "Say, 
John !  you  ready  to  die !  You  make  your 
peace  with  Grod !  You  go  to  heaven — to 
the  happy  hunting-ground  ? ' '     The  chief, 


104  Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

who  had  silenced  the  interpreter  with  a 
single  look,  was  apparently  beyond  the 
hearing  of  human  speech ;  so  the  evange- 
list, with  a  sigh,  again  inquired  into  the 
state  of  the  salmon  market  on  the  Pacific 
coast.  Then  the  stricken  brave  turned  a 
glazed  eye  upon  the  man  of  Grod,  and  the 
latter  once  more  sought  to  touch  that 
heart  of  stone:  ^'I  say,  you  Injun!  you 
prepared  to  meet  Grreat  Spirit  ?  You  ready 
to  go  to  happy  hunting-ground?"  The 
chief's  eyes  flamed  for  a  moment,  as  with 
infinite  scorn  he  muttered  between   his 

teeth  to  the  evangehst:  ^'You fool! 

You  go  to -! "     And  he  went. 

While  the  steamer  was  slowly  righting 
we  had  ample  time  to  inspect  the  beached 
hull  of  a  schooner  with  a  history.  She 
was  the  Pioneer  of  Casaan,  once  com- 
manded by  a  famous  old  smuggler  named 
Barono^ich.  Long  he  sailed  these  waters ; 
and,  like  Captain  Kidd,  he  bore  a  charmed 
life  as  he  sailed.  It  is  a  mystery  to  me 
how  any  sea-faring  man  can  trust  his  craft 
to  the  mercy  of  the  winds  and  tides  of 
this  myriad-islanded  inland  sea.  This 
ancient  mariner,  Barono'sdch,  not  only 
braved  the  elements,  but  defied  Russian 
officials,  who  kept  an  eye  upon  him  night 
and  day.     On  one  occasion,  ha^ang  been 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  105 

boarded  by  the  vigilant  inspectors,  and  his 
piratical  schooner  thoroughly  searched 
from  stem  to  stearn,  he  kindly  invited  the 
gentlemen  to  dine  mth  him,  and_  enter- 
tained them  at  a  board  groaning  with  the 
contraband  luxuries  which  his  suspicious 
guests  had  been  vainly  seeking  all  the 
afternoon.  It  is  a  wee  little  cabin  and  a 
shallow  hold  that  furnish  the  setting  for 
a  sea-tale  as  wildly  picturesque  as  any 
that  thrills  the  heart  of  your  youthful 
reader ;  but  high  and  dry  lies  the  molder- 
ing  hulk  of  the  dismantled  smuggler,  and 
there  is  no  one  left  to  tell  the  tale. 

As  we  lounged  about,  some  hideous 
Indians — I  trust  they  were  not  framed  in 
the  image  of  their  Maker,  —  ill-shapen 
lads,  dumpy,  expressionless  babies,  green- 
complexioned  half-breeds,  sat  and  looked 
on  with  utter  indifference.  Many  of  the 
Haida  Indians  have  kinky  or  wavy  hair, 
Japanese  or  Chinese  eyes,  and  most  of 
them  toe  out ;  but  they  are,  all  things  con- 
sidered, the  least  interesting,  the  most  un- 
gainly and  the  most  unpicturesque  of 
people.  If  there  is  work  for  them  to  do 
they  do  it,  heedless  of  the  presence  of  in- 
quisitive, pale-faced  spectators.  Indeed 
they  seem  to  look  down  upon  the  white- 
man,  and  perhaps  they  have  good  reasons 


106  Over  the  Ilochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

for  so  doing.  If  tliere  is  no  Tvork  to  be 
done,  they  are  not  at  all  disconcerted. 

I  very  much  doubt  if  a  Haida  Indian — 
or  any  other  Indian,  for  that  matter  — 
knows  what  it  is  to  be  bored  or  to  find 
the  time  hanging  heavily  on  his  hands. 
I  took  note  of  one  old  Indian  who  sat  for 
four  solid  hours  without  once  changing 
his  position.  Ho  miglit  have  been  sitting 
there  still  but  that  his  wife  routed  him 
out  after  a  lively  monologue,  to  which  he 
was  an  apparently  disinterested  listener. 
At  last  he  arose  with  a  grunt,  adjusted  his 
blanket,  strode  grimly  to  his  canoe  and 
bailed  it  out ;  then  he  entered  and  paddled 
leisurely  to  the  oj>posite  shore,  where  he 
disappeared  in  the  forest. 

Filth  was  everywhere,  and  evil  odors; 
but  far,  far  aloft  the  eagles  were  soaring, 
and  the  branches  of  a  withered  tree  near 
the  settlement  were  filled  with  crows  as 
big  as  buzzards.  Once  in  awhile  some 
one  or  another  took  a  shot  at  them — and 
missed.  Thus  the  time  passed  at  Casa-an. 
One  magnifies  the  merest  episode  on  the 
Alaskan  voyage,  and  is  grateful  for  it. 

Killisnoo  is  situated  in  a  cosy  little 
cove.  It  is  a  rambling  village  that  climbs 
over  the  rocks  and  naiTowly  escapes  be- 
ing pretty,   but  it  manages  to   escape. 


Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.  107 

Most  of  the  lodges  are  built  of  logs,  have 
small,  square  windows,  with  glass  in 
them,  aud  curtains;  and  have  also  a  kind 
of  primitive  chimney.  We  climbed  among 
these  lodges  and  found  them  quite  de- 
serted. The  lodgers  were  all  down  at  the 
dock.  There  were  inscriptions  on  a  few 
of  the  doors:  the  name  of  the  tenant,  and 
a  request  to  observe  the  sacredness  of  the 
domestic  hearth.  This  we  were  careful  to 
do ;  but  inasmuch  as  each  house  was  set 
in  order  and  the  window-curtains  looped 
back,  we  were  no  doubt  welcome  to  a 
glimpse  of  an  Alaskan  interior.  It  was 
the  least  little  bit  like  a  peep-show,  and 
didn't  seem  quite  real.  One  inscription 
was  as  as  follows  —  it  was  over  the  door 
of  the  lodge  of  the  laureate : 

JOSEPH    HOOLQUIN. 

My  tum-tum  is  white, 
I  try  to  do  right : 
AH  are  welcome  to  come 
To  mj-  hearth  aud  my  home. 
So  caU  in  and  see  me,  white,  red  or  black  man  : 
I'm  de-late  hyas  of  the  Kootznahoo  quan. 

Need  I  add  that  tum-tum  in  the  Chinook 
jargon  signifies  the  soul?  Joseph  merely 
announced  that  he  was  clean-souled ;  also 
de-late  hyas — that  is,  above  reproach. 


108  Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

At  the  store  of  the  Northwest  Trading 
Company  we  found  no  curios,  and  it  is 
the  only  store  in  the  place.  Sarsaparilla, 
tobacco,  blankets,  patent  medicines,  etc., 
are  there  neatly  displayed  on  freshly 
painted  shelves,  but  no  curios.  On  a  strip 
of  plank  walk  in  front  of  the  place  are 
Indians  luxuriously  heaped,  like  prize 
porkers,  and  they  are  about  as  interesting 
a  spectacle  to  the  unaccustomed  eye. 

Our  whistle  blew  at  noon.  We  returned 
on  board,  taking  the  cannery  and  oil- 
factory  on  the  way,  and  finding  it  impos- 
sible to  forget  them  for  some  time  after- 
ward. At  12.45  p.  m.  we  were  off,  but 
we  left  one  of  the  merriest  and  most  popu- 
lar of  our  voyagers  behind  us.  He  re- 
mained at  Killisnoo  in  charge  of  the  place. 
As  we  swam  off  into  the  sweet  sea  reaches, 
the  poor  fellow  ran  over  the  ridge  of  his 
little  island,  looking  quite  like  a  castaway, 
and  no  doubt  feeling  like  one.  He  sprang 
from  rock  to  rock  and  at  last  mounted  a 
hillock,  and  stood  wa\'ing  his  arms  wildly 
while  we  were  in  sight.  And  the  lassies? 
They  swarmed  like  bees  upon  the  wheel- 
house,  wringing  their  hands  and  their 
handkerchiefs,  and  weeping  rivers  of  im- 
aginary tears  over  our  first  bereavement ! 
But  really,  now,  what  a  life  to  lead,  and 


Over  the  Hooky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  109 

in  what  a  place,  especially  if  one  happens 
to  be  young,  and  good-looking  and  a  bit 
of  a  swell  withal ! 

But  is  there  no  romance  here  ?  Listen ! 
We  came  to  anchor  over  night  in  a  quiet 
nook  where  the  cliffs  and  the  clouds  over- 
shadowed us.  Everything  was  of  the 
Vaguest  description,  without  form  and 
void.  There  seemed  to  be  one  hut  on 
shore,  with  the  spark  of  a  light  in  it  —  a 
cannery  of  course.  Canoes  were  drifting 
to  and  fro  hke  motes  in  the  darkness, 
tipped  with  a  phosphorescent  rim.  In- 
dian voices  hailed  us  out  of  the  ominous 
silence ;  Indian  dogs  muttered  under  their 
breath,  yelping  in  a  whisper  which  was 
mocked  by  Indian  papooses,  who  can  bark 
before  they  have  learned  to  walk  or  talk. 

Softly  out  of  the  balmy  night  —  for  it 
was  balmy  and  balsamic  (we  were  to  the 
windward  of  the  cannery),  —  a  shadowy 
canoe  floated  up  just  under  our  rail ;  two 
shadowy  forms  materialized,  and  voices 
like  the  voices  of  spirits — almost  the  soft- 
est voices  in  the  world,  voices  of  infantile 
sweetness — hailed  us.  ^'AlaJi  mika  cJiaJi- 
ko!^^  babbled  the  flowers  of  the  forest.  My 
sohtary  companion  responded  glibly,  for 
he  was  no  stranger  in  these  parts.  The 
maids  grew  garrulous.     There  was  much 


110  Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

bantering,  and  such  laughter  as  the  gods 
delight  in ;  and  at  last  a  shout  that  drew 
the  attention  of  the  captain.  He  joined 
us  just  in  season  to  recognize  the  occu- 
pants of  the  canoe,  as  they  shot  through 
a  stream  of  light  under  an  open  port,  cry- 
ing ^^Anah  nawitka  mika  halo  shem!^^ 
And  then  we  learned  that  the  sea-nymphs 
he  had  put  to  flight  were  none  other  than 
the  belles  of  Juneau  City,  the  Alaskan 
metropolis,  who  were  spending  the  sum- 
mer at  this  watering-place,  and  who  were 
known  to  fame  as  ''Kitty  the  Gropher," 
and  "Feather-Legged  Sal." 


Chapter  XI. 

In  the  Sea  of  Ice. 

TX7"E  appreciated  the  sun's  warmth  so 
long  as  we  were  cruising  among  the 
ice-wrack.  Some  of  the  passengers,  hav- 
ing been  forewarned,  were  provided  with 
heavy  overcoats,  oilskin  hats,  water- 
proofs, woolen  socks,  and  stogies  with 
great  nails  driven  into  the  soles.  They 
were  iron-bound,  copper-fastened  tour- 
ists, thoroughly  equipped — Alpine-stock 
and  all, — and  equal  to  any  emergency. 

Certainly  it  rains  whenever  it  feels  like 
it  in  Alaska.  It  can  rain  heavily  for  days 
together,  and  does  so  from  time  to  time. 
The  excursion-boat  may  run  out  of  one 
predicament  into  another,  and  the  whole 
voyage  be  a  series  of  dismal  disappoint- 
ments ;  but  this  is  not  to  be  feared.  The 
chances  are  in  favor  of  a  round  of  sun- 
shiny days  and  cloudless  nights  as  bright 
as  the  winter  days  in  New  England;  of 
the  fairest  of  fair  weather ;  bracing  breezes 
tempered  by  the  fragrant  forests  that 
mantle  each  of  the  ten  thousand  islands ; 
(111) 


112  Over  the  Roclcij  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

cool  nights  in  midsummer,  when  a 
blanket  is  welcome  in  one's  bunk ;  a  touch 
of  a  fog  now  and  again,  generally  lasting 
but  a  few  hours,  and  welcome,  also,  by 
way  of  change.  As  for  myself,  a  rubber 
coat  protected  me  in  the  few  showers  to 
which  we  were  exposed,  and  afforded 
warmth  enough  in  the  coldest  weather  we 
encountered.  For  a  chmb  over  a  glacier, 
the  very  thickest  shoes  are  absolutely 
necessary;  beyond  these,  all  else  seems 
superfluous  to  me,  and  the  superfluous  is 
the  chief  burden  of  travel. 

We  were  gathered  about  the  deck  in 
little  groups.  The  unpremeditated  cote- 
ries which  naturally  spring  into  existence 
on  shipboard  hailed  one  another  across 
decks,  from  the  captain's  cabin — a  favor- 
ite resort  —  or  the  smoking-room,  as  we 
sighted  objects  of  interest.  With  us  there 
was  no  antagonism,  albeit  we  numbered 
a  full  hundred,  and  for  three  weeks  were 
confined  to  pretty  close  quarters.  Passing 
the  hours  thus,  and  felicitating  ourselves 
upon  the  complete  success  of  the  voyage, 
we  were  in  the  happiest  humor,  and 
amiably  awaited  our  next  experience. 

Presently  we  ran  under  a  wooded  height 
that  shut  off  the  base  of  a  great  snow- 
capped mountain .    The  peak  was  celestial 


Over  tlie  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.  113 

in  its  beauty,  —  a  wraith  dimly  outlined 
upon  the  diaphanous  sky,  of  which  it 
seemed  a  more  palpable  part.  When  we 
had  rounded  this  point  we  came  face  to 
face  with  a  glacier.  We  saw  at  a  glance 
the  length  and  the  breadth  of  it  as  it 
plowed  slowly  down  between  lofty  rock- 
ridges  to  within  a  mile  and  a  half  of  the 
shore.  This  was  our  first  sight  of  one  of 
those  omnipotent  architects  of  nature, 
and  we  watched  it  with  a  thrill  of  aw^e. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  vast  river,  two  or 
three  miles  in  breadth,  pouring  down 
from  the  eminence  of  an  icy  peak  thirty 
miles  away,  —  a  river  fed  by  numerous 
lateral  tributaries  that  flow  in  from  every 
declivity.  Imagine  this  river  lashed  to  a 
fury  and  covered  from  end  to  end,  fath- 
oms deep,  with  foam,  and  then  the  whole 
suddenly  frozen  and  fixed  for  evermore — 
that  is  your  glacier.  Sometimes  the  sur- 
face is  stained  with  the  cUhris  of  the  moun- 
tain ;  sometimes  the  bluish-green  tinge  of 
the  ancient  ice  crops  out.  Grenerally  the 
surface  is  as  white  as  down  and  very  fair 
to  look  upon ;  for  at  a  distance — we  were 
about  eight  miles  from  the  lower  edge  of 
it — the  eye  detects  no  flaw.  It  might  be 
a  torrent  of  milk  and  honey.  It  might 
almost  be  compared  in  its  immaculate 


114  Over  the  Rochy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

beauty  to  one  of  the  rivers  of  Paradise 
that  flow  hard  by  the  throne  of  Grod.  It 
seems  to  be  moving  in  majesty,  and  yet 
is  stationary,  or  nearly  so ;  for  we  might 
sit  by  its  frozen  shore  and  grow  gray  with 
watching,  and  ever  our  dull  eyes  could 
detect  no  change  in  a  ripple  of  it.  A  river 
of  Paradise,  indeed,  escaped  from  the 
gardens  of  the  blessed;  but,  overcome  by 
the  squalor  of  this  little  globe,  it  has 
stopped  short  and  turned  to  ice  in  its 
alabaster  bed. 

One  evening,  about  8.30  o'clock,  the 
sun  still  high  above  the  western  moun- 
tain range,  we  found  ourselves  opposite 
the  Davidson  glacier.  It  passes  out  of  a 
broad  ravine  and  spreads  fanlike  upon 
the  shore  under  the  neighboring  cliffs.  It 
is  three  miles  in  breadth  along  the  front, 
and  is  twelve  hundred  feet  in  height  when 
it  begins  to  crumble  and  slope  toward  the 
shore.  A  terminal  moraine,  a  mile  and  a 
half  in  depth,  separates  it  from  the  sea. 
A  forest,  or  the  remnant  of  a  forest, 
stands  between  it  and  the  water  it  is 
slowly  but  surely  approaching.  The  fate 
of  this  solemn  wood  is  sealed.  Anon  the 
mightiest  among  these  mighty  trees  will 
fall  like  grain  before  the  sickle  of  the 
reaper. 


Over  the  Rocky  Ilounta'ms  to  Alaska.  115 

We  are  very  near  this  glacier.  We  see 
all  the  wrinkles  and  fissures  and  the  deep 
discolorations.  We  see  how  the  mon- 
strous mass  winds  in  and  out  between  the 
mountains,  and  crowds  them  on  every 
side,  and  rubs  their  skin  off  in  spots,  and 
leaves  grooved  lines,  like  high-water 
marks,  along  the  face  of  the  cliffs ;  how  it 
gathers  as  it  goes,  and  grinds  to  powder 
and  to  paste  whatever  comes  within  its 
reach,  growing  worse  and  worse,  and 
greedier  and  more  rapacious  as  it  creeps 
down  into  the  lowlands ;  so  that  when  it 
reaches  the  sea,  where  it  must  end  its 
course  and  dissolve  away,  it  will  have 
covered  itself  with  slime  and  confusion. 
It  will  have  left  ruin  and  desolation  in  its 
track,  but  it  will  likewise  have  cleft  out  a 
valley  with  walls  polished  like  brass  and 
a  floor  as  smooth  as  marble,  —  one  that 
will  be  utilized  in  after  ages,  when  it  has 
carpeted  itself  with  green  and  tapestried 
its  walls  with  vines.  Surely  no  other 
power  on  earth  could  have  done  the  job 
so  neatly. 

One  sees  this  work  in  process  and  in 
fresh  completion  in  Alaska.  The  bald 
islet  yonder,  with  a  surface  as  smooth  as 
glass  and  with  delicate  tracery  along  its 
polished  sides  —  tracery  that  looks  like 


116  Over  the  Hocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

etching  upon  glass,  —  was  modelled  by 
glaciers  not  so  many  years  ago:  within 
the  century,  some  of  them,  perhaps.  A 
glacier — probably  the  very  glacier  we  are 
seeking  —  follows  this  track  and  grinds 
them  all  into  shape.  Every  angle  of 
action  —  of  motion,  shall  I  say?  —  is  in- 
delibly impressed  upon  each  and  every 
rock  here  about;  so  all  these  northlands, 
from  sea  to  sea,  the  world  over,  have  been 
laboriously  licked  into  shape  by  the  irre- 
sistible tide  of  ice.  Verily,  the  mills  of 
the  gods  grind  slowly,  but  what  a  grist 
they  grind! 

Let  me  record  an  episode  that  occa- 
sioned no  little  excitement  among  the 
passengers  and  crew  of  the  Ancon.  While 
we  were  picking  our  way  among  the  float- 
ing ice — and  at  a  pretty  good  jog,  too, — 
a  dark  body  was  seen  to  fall  from  an 
open  port,  forward,  into  the  sea.  There 
was  a  splash  and  a  shriek  as  it  passed 
directly  under  the  wheel  and  disappeared 
in  the  foam  astern.  ''Man  overboard!" 
was  the  cry  that  rang  through  the  ship, 
while  we  all  rushed  breathlessly  to  the 
after-rail.  Among  the  seething  waters  in 
our  wake,  we  saw  a  head  appearing  and 
disappearing,  and  growing  smaller  and 
smaller  all  the  while,  though  the  swimmer 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  117 

was  struggling  bravely  to  hold  his  own. 
In  a  moment  the  engines  were  stopped; 
and  then — an  after-thought — we  made  as 
sharp  a  turn  as  possible,  hoping  to  lessen 
the  distance  between  us,  while  a  boat  was 
being  manned  and  lowered  for  the  rescue. 
We  feared  that  it  was  the  cook,  who  was 
running  a  fair  chance  of  being  drowned 
or  chilled  to  death.  His  black  head 
bobbed  like  a  burnt  cork  on  the  crest  of 
the  waves;  and,  though  we  marked  a 
snow-white  circle  in  the  sea,  we  seemed 
to  get  no  nearer  the  strong  swimmer  in 
his  agony;  and  all  at  once  we  saw  him 
turn,  as  in  desperation  or  despair,  and 
make  for  one  of  the  little  rocky  islets  that 
were  \jing  at  no  great  distance.  E\idently 
he  beheved  himself  deserted,  and  was 
about  to  seek  this  desolate  rock  in  the 
hope  of  prolonging  existence. 

By  this  time  we  had  come  to  a  dead 
halt,  and  a  prolonged  silence  followed. 
Our  sailor  boys  pulled  lustily  at  the  oars ; 
yet  the  little  boat  seemed  to  crawl  through 
yawning  waves,  and,  as  usual,  every 
moment  was  an  hour  of  terrible  suspense. 
Then  the  captain,  the  most  anxious 
among  us  all,  made  a  trumpet  of  his  hands 
and  shouted:  ^'Here,  Pete,  old  boy! 
Here,  Pete,  you  black  rascal!"     At  the 


118  Over  the  RocTcy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

sound  of  his  voice  the  swimmer  suddenly 
turned  and  struck  out  for  the  ship  with 
an  enthusiasm  that  was  actually  ludicrous. 
We  roared  with  laughter  —  we  could  not 
help  it ;  for  when  the  boat  had  pulled  up 
to  the  almost  water-logged  swimmer,  and 
he  began  to  climb  in  with  an  energy  that 
imperiled  the  safety  of  the  crew,  we  saw 
that  the  black  rascal  in  question  was  none 
other  than  Pete  Bruin,  Captain  Carroll's 
pet  bear.  He  shook  himself  and  drenched 
the  oarsmen,  who  were  trying  to  get  him 
back  to  the  ship ;  for  he  was  half  frantic 
with  delight,  and  it  was  pretty  close 
quarters  —  a  small  boat  in  a  chop  sea 
dotted  with  lumpy  ice ;  and  a  frantic  bear 
puffing  and  blowing  as  he  shambled  bear- 
fashion  from  the  stem  to  stern,  and  raised 
his  voice  at  intervals  in  a  kind  of  hoarse 
''hooray,"  that  depressed  rather  than 
cheered  his  companions.  It  was  ticklish 
business  getting  the  boat  and  its  lively 
crew  back  to  the  davits  in  safety. 

It  was  still  more  ticklish  receiving  the 
shaggy  hero  on  deck;  for  he  gave  one 
wild  bound  and  alighted  in  the  midst  of 
a  group  of  terrified  ladies  and  scattered 
the  rest  of  us  in  dismay.  But  it  was  side- 
splitting when  the  little  fellow,  seeing  an 
open  door,  made  a  sudden  break  for  it, 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  119 

and  plunged  into  the  berth  of  a  shy  dam- 
sel, who,  put  to  ignominious  flight  in  the 
first  gust  of  the  panic,  had  sought  safety 
in  her  state-room  only  to  be  singled  out 
for  the  recipient  of  the  rascal's  special 
attentions.    She  was  rescued  by  the  brav- 
est of  the  brave;  but  Bruin  had  to  be 
dragged  from  behind  the  lace  curtains 
with  a  lasso,  and  then  he  brought  some 
shreds  of  lace  with  him  as  a  trophy.     He 
was  more  popular  than  ever   after  this 
httle  adventure,  and  many  an  hour  we 
spent  in  recounting  to  one  another  the 
varied  emotions  awakened  by  the  episode. 
Heading  for  Griacier  Bay,  we  found  a 
flood  of  bitter  cold  water  so  filled  with 
floating  ice  that  it  was  quite  impassible  to 
avoid  frequent  colhsions  with  masses  of 
more  or  less  magnitude.     There  was  an 
almost    continual  thumping    along    the 
ship's  side  as  the  paddle  struck  heavily 
the  ice  fragments  which  we  found  litter- 
ing the  frozen  sea.     There  was  also  a  dull 
reverberation  as  of  distant  thunder  that 
rolled  over  the  sea  to  us ;  and  when  we 
learned  that  this  was  the  crackhng  of  the 
ice-pack  in  the  gorges,  we  thought  with 
increasing  solemnity  of  the  majesty  of  the 
spectacle  Ave  were  about  to  witness. 
Thus  we  pushed  forward  bravely  toward 


120  Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

an  ice-wall  that  stretched  across  the  top 
of  the  bay  from  one  high  shore  to  the 
other.  This  wall  of  ice,  a  precipitous  bluff 
or  palisade,  is  computed  to  be  from  two 
hundred  to  five  hundred  feet  in  height. 
It  is  certainly  nowhere  less  than  two  hun- 
dred, but  most  of  it  far  nearer  five  hun- 
dred feet  above  sea  level,  rising  directly 
out  of  it,  overhanging  it,  and  chilling  the 
air  perceptibly.  Picking  our  path  to  with- 
in a  safe  distance  of  the  glacier,  we  cast 
anchor  and  were  free  to  go  our  ways  for  a 
whole  glorious  day.  According  to  Pro- 
fessor John  Muir —  for  whom  the  glacier 
is  deservedly  named, — the  ice-wall  meas- 
ures three  miles  across  the  front;  ten 
miles  farther  back  it  is  ten  miles  in 
breadth.  Sixteen  tributary  glaciers  unite 
to  form  the  one. 

Professor  Muir,  accompanied  by  the 
Rev.  S.  Hall  Young,  of  Fort  Wrangell, 
visited  it  in  1879.  They  were  the  first 
white  men  to  explore  this  region,  and 
they  went  thither  by  canoe.  Muir,  with 
blankets  strapped  to  his  back  and  his 
pockets  stuffed  with  hard-tack,  spent  days 
in  rapturous  speculation.  Of  all  glacial 
theorists  he  is  doubtless  the  most  self- 
sacrificing  and  enthusiastic.  I  believe,  as 
yet,  no  one  has  timed  this  glacier.     It  is 


Over  tlie  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  121 

dissolving  away  more  rapidly  than  it  trav- 
els ;  so  that  although  it  is  always  advanc- 
ing, it  seems  in  reality  to  be  retreating. 

Within  the  memory  of  the  last  three 
generations  the  Muir  glacier  filled  the  bay 
for  miles  below  our  anchorage ;  and  while 
it  recedes,  it  is  creeping  slowly  down, 
scalping  the  mountains,  grinding  all  the 
sharp  edges  into  powder  or  leaving  a  pol- 
ished surface  behind  it.  It  gathers  rock 
dust  and  the  wreck  of  every  hving  thing, 
and  mixes  them  up  with  snow  and  ice. 
These  congeal  again,  or  are  compressed 
into  soft,  filthy  monumental  masses,  wait- 
ing their  turn  to  topple  into  the  waves  at 
last.  The  wash  of  the  sea  undermines 
the  glacier;  the  sharp  sunbeams  blast  it. 
It  is  forever  sinking,  settling,  crushing  in 
upon  itself  and  splitting  from  end  to  end, 
with  fearful  and  prolonged  intestinal  re- 
verberations, that  remind  one  of  battle 
thunders  and  murder  and  sudden  death. 
There  was  hardly  a  moment  during  the 
day  free  from  rumble  or  a  crash  or  a 
splash. 

The  front  elevation  might  almost  be 
compared  to  Niagara  Falls  in  winter ;  but 
here  is  a  spectacular  effect  not  often  visi- 
ble at  Niagara.  At  intervals  huge  frag- 
ments of  the  ice  cliffs  fall,  carrying  with 


122  Over  the  Roclcy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

them  torrents  of  snow  and  slush.  Heaven 
only  knows  know  many  hundred  thousand 
tons  of  this  d^hris  plunged  into  the  sea 
under  our  very  eyes.  Nor  was  it  all  debris  : 
there  was  masses  of  solid  ice  so  lustrous 
they  looked  like  gigantic  emeralds  or  sap- 
phires, and  these  were  fifty  or  even  a 
hundred  times  the  size  of  our  ship.  When 
they  fell  they  seemed  to  descend  with  the 
utmost  deliberation ;  for  they  fell  a  much 
greater  distance  than  we  could  realize,  as 
their  bulk  was  beyond  conception,  so  that 
a  fall  of  two  hundred  or  three  hundred 
feet  seemed  not  a  tenth  part  of  that 
distance. 

With  this  deliberate  descent,  as  if  they 
floated  down,  they  also  gave  an  impres- 
sion of  vast  weight  and  when  they  struck 
the  sea,  the  foam  flew  two-thirds  of  the 
way  up  the  cliff  —  a  fountain  three  hun- 
dred feet  in  height  and  of  monstrous  vol- 
ume. Then  after  a  long  time  —  a  very 
long  time  it  seemed  to  us — the  ice  would 
rise  slowly  from  the  deep  and  climb  the 
face  of  the  cliff  as  if  it  were  about  to  take 
its  old  place  again;  but  it  sank  and  rose, 
until  it  had  found  its  level,  when  it  joined 
the  long  procession  drifting  southward  to 
warmer  waves  and  dissolution. 

In  the  meantime  the  ground  swell  that 


Over  the  Rochj  Moimtanis  to  Alaska.  123 

followed  each  submersion  resembled  a 
tidal  wave  as  it  rolled  down  upon  us  and 
threatened  to  engulf  us.  But  the  Ancon 
rode  Uke  a  duck  —  I  can  not  consistently 
say  swan  in  this  case,  —  and  heaved  to 
starboard  and  to  larboard  in  picturesque 
and  thoroughly  nautical  fashion.  Some 
of  us  were  on  shore,  wading  in  the  mud 
and  the  slush,  or  climbing  the  steep  bluffs 
that  hem  in  the  glacier  upon  one  side. 
Here  it  was  convenient  to  glance  over  the 
wide,  wide  snow-fields  that  seem  to  have 
been  broken  with  colossal  harrows.  It 
was  even  possible  to  venture  out  upon  the 
ice  ridges,  leaping  the  gaps  that  divided 
them  in  every  direction.  But  at  any 
moment  the  crust  might  have  broken  and 
buried  us  from  sight;  and  we  found  the 
spectacle  far  more  enjo^^able  when  viewed 
from  the  deck  of  the  steamer. 

What  is  that  glacier  like?  Well,  just  a 
little  like  the  whitewashed  crater  of  an 
active  volcano.  At  any  rate,  it  is  the 
glorious  companion  piece  to  Kilauea  in 
Hawaii.  In  these  wonders  of  nature  you 
behold  the  extremes,  fire  and  ice,  having 
it  all  their  own  way,  and  a  world  of  ada- 
mant shall  not  prevail  against  them. 


—^3 


Chapter  XII. 
Alaska's  Capital. 

CITKA  has  always  seemed  to  me  the 
jumping-off  place.  I  have  vaguely 
imagined  that  somehow — I  know  not  just 
how  —  it  had  a  mysterious  affinity  with 
Moscow,  and  was  in  some  way  a  depend- 
ence of  that  Musco^dte  municipality.  I 
was  half  willing  to  believe  that  an  under- 
ground passage  connected  the  Kremlin 
with  the  Castle  of  Sitka;  that  the  tiny 
capital  of  Great  Alaska  responded,  though 
feebly,  to  every  throb  of  the  Russian 
heart.  Perhaps  it  did  in  the  good  old 
days  now  gone;  but  there  is  little  or  noth- 
ing of  the  Russian  element  left,  and  the 
place  is  as  dead  as  dead  can  be  without 
giving  offence  to  the  olfactory  organ. 

We  were  picking  our  way  through  a 
perfect  wilderness  of  islands,  on  the  look- 
out for  the  capital,  of  which  we  had  read 
and  heard  so  much.  Surely  the  Alaskan 
pilot  must  have  the  eye  and  the  instinct 
of  a  sea  bird  or  he  could  never  find  a  port 
in  that  labyrinth.  Moreover,  the  air  was 
(124) 


Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.  125 

misty:  we  felt  that  we  were  approaching 
the  sea.  Lofty  mountains  towered  above 
us ;  sometimes  the  islands  swam  apart  — 
they  seemed  all  in  motion,  as  if  they  were 
swinging  to  and  fro  on  the  tide,  —  and 
then  down  a  magnificent  vista  we  saw  the 
richly  wooded  slopes  of  some  glorious 
height  that  loomed  out  of  the  vapor  and 
bathed  its  forehead  in  the  sunshine. 
Sometimes  the  mist  grew  denser,  and  we 
could  see  hardly  a  ship's-length  ahead  of 
us ;  and  the  air  was  so  chilly  that  our  over- 
coats were  drawn  snugly  about  us,  and 
we  wondered  what  the  temperature  might 
be  ''down  south"  in  Dakota  and  New 
England. 

In  the  grayest  of  gray  days  we  came  to 
Sitka,  and  very  likely  for  this  reason 
found  it  a  disappointment  at  first  sight. 
Certainly  it  looked  dreary  enough  as  we 
approached  it — a  little  cluster  of  tumble- 
down houses  scattered  along  a  bleak  and 
rocky  shore.  "We  steamed  slowly  past  it, 
made  a  big  turn  in  deep  water,  got  a  toler- 
able view  of  the  city  from  one  end  of  it  to 
the  other,  and  then  crept  up  to  the  one 
little  dock,  made  fast,  and  were  all 
granted  the  freedom  of  the  capital  for  a 
couple  of  days.  It  is  a  gray  place — gray 
with  a  greenish  tinge  in  it  —  the  kind  of 


126  Over  the  Rocky  Moimtains  to  Alaska. 

green  that  looks  perennial  —  a  dark,  dull 
evergreen. 

There  was  some  show  of  color  among 
the  costumes  of  the  people  on  shore  — 
bright  blankets  and  brighter  calicoes,  — 
but  there  was  no  suspicion  of  gayety  or 
of  a  possible  show  of  enthusiasm  among 
the  few  sedate  individuals  who  came  down 
to  see  us  disembark.  I  began  to  wonder 
if  these  solemn  spectators  that  were 
grouped  along  the  dock  were  ghosts  ma- 
terialized for  the  occasion;  if  the  place 
were  literally  dead  —  dead  as  the  ancient 
Russian  cemetery  on  the  hill,  where  the 
white  crosses  with  their  double  arms,  the 
upper  and  shorter  one  aslant,  shone 
through  the  sad  light  of  the  waning  day. 

We  had  three  little  Russian  maids  on 
our  passenger  list,  daughters  of  Father 
Mitropolski,  the  Greek  priest  at  Sitka. 
They  were  returning  from  a  convent 
school  at  Victoria,  and  were  bubbling 
over  with  delight  at  the  prospective  joys 
of  a  summer  vacation  at  home.  But  no 
sooner  had  they  received  the  paternal 
embraces  upon  the  deck  than  the  virtue 
of  happiness  went  out  of  them ;  and  they 
became  sedate  little  Sitkans,  whose  dig- 
nity belied  the  riotous  spirit  that  had 
made  them  the  hfe  of  the  ship  on  the 
way  up. 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  127 

We  also  brought  home  a  little  Russian 
chap  who  had  been  working  down  at  Fort 
Wrangell,  and,  having  made  a  fortune — 
it  was  a  fortune  in  his  eyes,  —  he  was  re- 
turning to  stay  in  the  land  of  his  nativity. 
He  was  quiet  enough  on  shipboard  —  in- 
deed, he  had  almost  escaped  observation 
until  we  sighted  Sitka ;  but  then  his  heart 
could  contain  itself  no  longer,  and  he 
made  confidants  of  several  of  us  to  whom 
he  had  spoken  never  a  word  until  this 
moment.  How  glad  he  was  to  greet  its 
solemn  shores,  to  him  the  dearest  spot  in 
all  the  earth !  A  few  hours  later  we  met 
him.  He  was  swinging  on  the  gate  at  the 
homestead  in  the  edge  of  the  town:  a 
sweet,  primitive  place,  that  caught  our 
eye  before  the  youngster  caught  our  ears 
with  his  cheerful  greeting.  "Oh,  I  so 
glad ! "  said  he,  with  a  mist  in  his  eye  that 
harmonized  with  everything  else.  "I 
make  eighty  dollar  in  four  month  at 
Wrangell.  My  sister  not  know  me  when 
I  get  home.  I  so  glad  to  come  back  to 
Sitka.     I  not  go  away  any  more." 

Of  course  we  poured  out  of  the  ship  in 
short  order,  and  spread  through  the  town 
like  ants.  At  the  top  of  the  dock  is  the 
Northwest  Trading  Company's  store  — 
how  we  learned  to  know  these  estabUsh- 


128  Orer  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

ments !  Some  scoured  it  for  a  first  choice, 
and  got  the  pick  of  the  wares;  but  here, 
as  elsewhere,  we  found  the  same  motley 
collection  of  semi-barbarous  bric-a-brac — 
brilliantly  painted  Indian  paddles  spread 
like  a  sunburst  against  the  farther  wall ; 
heaps  of  wooden  masks  and  all  the  fan- 
tastical carvings  such  as  the  aborigines 
delight  in,  and  in  which  they  almost  ex- 
cel. Up  the  main  street  of  the  town  is 
another  store,  where  a  series  of  large 
rooms,  crowded  with  curios  bewilders  the 
purchaser  of  those  grotesque  wares. 

At  the  top  of  Katalan's  rock,  on  the 
edge  of  the  sea,  stands  the  Colonial 
Castle.  It  is  a  wooden  stnicture,  looking 
more  like  a  barrack  than  a  castle.  At 
the  foot  of  the  rock  are  the  barracks  and 
Custom  House.  A  thin  sprinkling  of 
marines,  a  few  foreign-looking  citizens — 
the  full-fledged  Rusk  of  the  unmistakable 
type  is  hard  to  find  nowadays,  —  and 
troupes  of  Indians  give  a  semblance  of 
life  to  this  quarter.  An  the  head  of  the 
street  stands  the  Russian  Orthodox 
Church;  and  this  edifice,  with  its  quaint 
tower  and  spire,  is  really  the  lion  of  the 
place.  St.  Michael's  was  dedicated  in 
1844  by  the  Venerable  Ivan  Venianimoff , 
the  metropolitan  of  Moscow,  for  years 


Over  the  BocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska.  129 

priest  and  Bishop  at  Ounalaska  and 
Sitka. 

In  his  time  the  little  chapel  was  richly 
decorated;  but  as  the  settlement  began 
falling  to  decay,  the  splendid  vestments 
and  sacred  vessels  and  altar  ornaments, 
and  even  the  Bishop  himself,  were  trans- 
ferred to  San  Francisco.  It  then  became 
the  duty  of  the  Bishop  to  visit  annually 
the  churches  at  Sitka,  Ounalaska  and 
Kodiak,  as  the  Russian  Government  still 
allowed  these  dependencies  an  annuity  of 
$50,000.  But  the  last  incumbent  of  the 
office,  Bishop  Nestor,  was  lost  tragically 
at  sea  in  May,  1883 ;  and,  as  the  Russian 
priesthood  seems  to  be  less  pious  than 
particular,  the  office  is  still  a-begging  — 
unless  I  have  been  misinformed.  Prob- 
ably the  mission  will  be  abandoned.  Cer- 
tainly the  dilapidated  chapel,  with  its 
remnants  of  tarnished  finery,  its  three 
surviving  families  of  Russian  blood,  its 
handful  of  Indian  converts,  seems  not 
likely  to  hold  long  together. 

We  witnessed  a  service  in  St.  Michael's. 
The  tinkling  bells  in  the  green  belfry  — 
a  bulbous,  antique-looking  belfry  it  is  — 
rang  us  in  from  the  four  quarters  of  the 
town.  As  there  were  neither  pews,  chairs 
nor  prayer  carpets,  we  stood  in  serio-comic 


130  Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  AlasJca. 

silence  while  the  double  mysteries  of  the 
hidden  Holy  of  Holies  were  celebrated. 
Not  more  than  a  dozen  devotees  at  most 
were  present.  These  gathered  modestly 
in  the  rear  of  the  nave  and  put  us  to  shame 
with  their  reverent  gravity.  Strange 
chants  were  chanted ;  it  was  a  weird  mu- 
sic, like  a  litany  of  bumblebees.  Dense 
clouds  of  incense  issued  from  gilded 
recesses  that  were  screened  from  Yiew. 

It  was  all  very  strange,  very  foreign, 
very  unintelUgible  to  us.  It  was  also 
very  monotonous ;  and  when  some  of  the 
unbelievers  grew  restless  and  stole  quietly 
about  on  voyages  of  exploration  and  dis- 
covery, they  were  duly  rewarded  at  the 
hands  of  the  custodian  of  the  chapel,  who 
rather  encouraged  the  seeming  sacrilege. 
He  left  his  prayers  unsaid  to  pilot  us  from 
nook  to  nook ;  he  exhibited  the  old  paint- 
ings of  Byzantine  origin,  and  in  broken 
English  endeavored  to  enterpret  their 
meaning.  He  opened  antique  chests  that 
we  might  examine  their  contents;  and 
when  a  volume  of  prayers  printed  in  rustic 
Russian  type  and  bound  with  clumsy 
metal  clasps,  was  bartered  for,  he  seemed 
quite  willing  to  dispose  of  it,  though  it 
was  the  only  one  of  the  kind  visible  on 
the  premises.     This  excited  our  cupidity. 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  131 

and,  with  a  purse  in  our  hand,  we  groped 
into  the  sacristy  seeking  what  we  might 
secure. 

A  set  of  small  chromos  came  to  light : 
bright  visions  of  the  Madonna,  done  in 
three  or  four  colors,  on  thin  paper  and 
fastened  to  blocks  of  wood.  They  were 
worth  about  two  cents — perhaps  three  for 
five.  We  paid  fifty  cents  apiece,  and  were 
glad  to  get  them  at  that  price  —  oh,  the 
madness  of  the  seeker  after  souvenirs! 
Then  all  unexpectedly  we  came  upon  a 
collection  of  half-obhterated  panel  paint- 
ings. They  were  thrown  carelessly  in  a 
deep  window-seat,  and  had  been  over- 
looked by  many.  They  were  Russian  to 
the  very  grain  of  the  wood;  they  were 
quaint  to  the  verge  of  the  ludicrous ;  they 
were  positively  black  with  age;  thick 
layers  of  dust  and  dirt  and  smoke  of  in- 
cense coated  them,  so  that  the  faint  colors 
that  were  laid  upon  them  were  sunk 
almost  out  of  sight.  The  very  wood  it- 
self was  weather-stained,  and  a  chip  out 
of  it  left  no  trace  of  life  or  freshness  be- 
neath. Centuries  old  they  seemed,  these 
small  panels,  sacred  IJwns.  In  far-away 
Russia  they  may  have  been  venerated  be- 
fore this  continent  had  verified  the  dream 
of  Columbus.   As  we  wereTbreaking  nearly 


132  Over  the  Bochy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

all  the  laws  of  propriety,  I  thought  it  safe 
to  inquire  the  price  of  these.  I  did  so. 
Would  I  had  been  the  sole  one  within 
hearing  that  I  might  have  glutted  my 
gorge  on  the  spot !  They  were  fifteen  cents 
apiece,  and  they  were  divided  among  us 
as  ruthlessly  as  if  they  were  the  seamless 
shirt  of  blessed  memory. 

Meanwhile  the  ceremonies  at  the  high 
altar  had  come  to  an  end.  The  amiable 
assistant  of  Father  Mitropolski  was  dis- 
playing the  treasures  of  the  sanctuary 
with  pardonable  pride, — jewelled  crosiers, 
golden  chalices,  robes  resplendent  with 
rubies,  amethysts  and  pearls,  paintings 
upon  ivory,  and  images  clothed  in  silver 
and  precious  stones.  The  little  chapel, 
cruciform,  is  decorated  in  white  and  gold; 
the  altar  screens  are  of  bronze  set  with 
images  of  silver.  Soft  carpets  of  the  Orient 
were  spread  upon  the  steps  of  the  altar. 

How  pretty  it  all  seemed  as  we  turned 
to  leave  the  place  and  saw  everything 
dimly  in  the  blue  vapor  that  still  sweetened 
and  hallowed  it !  And  when  the  six  bells 
in  the  belfry  all  fell  to  ringing  riotously, 
and  the  sun  let  slip  a  few  stray  beams 
that  painted  the  spire  a  richer  green,  and 
the  grassy  street  that  stretches  from  the 
church  porch  to  the  shore  was  dotted  with 


Over  the  Bochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.  133 

groups  of  strollers,  St  Michael's  at  Sitka, 
in  spite  of  its  clingy  and  unsymmetrical 
exterior,  seemed  to  us  one  of  the  prettiest 
spots  it  had  ever  been  our  lot  to  see. 

It  is  a  grassy  and  a  mossy  town  that 
gathers  about  the  Russian  chapel.  All 
the  old  houses  were  built  to  last  (as  they 
are  likely  to  do)  for  many  generations  to 
come.  They  are  log-houses  —  the  public 
buildings,  the  once  fashionable  officers' 
club,  and  many  of  the  residences, — formed 
of  solid  square  brown  logs  laid  one  upon 
another  until  you  come  to  the  roof.  At 
times  the  logs  are  clapboarded  without, 
and  are  all  lathed  and  plastered  within. 
The  floors  are  solid  and  the  stairs  also. 
The  wonder  is  how  the  town  can  ever  go 
to  ruin  —  save  by  fire ;  for  wood  doesn't 
rot  in  Alaska,  but  will  lie  in  logs  exposed 
to  the  changes  of  the  season  for  an  in- 
definite period. 

I  saw  in  a  wood  back  of  the  town  an 
immense  log.  It  was  in  the  primeval 
forest,  and  below  it  were  layers  of  other 
logs  lying  crosswise  and  in  confusion.  I 
know  not  how  far  below  me  was  the  solid 
earth,  for  mats  of  thick  moss  and  deep 
beds  of  dead  leaves  filled  the  hollows 
between  the  logs;  but  this  log,  nearly 
three  feet  in  diameter,  was  above  them 


134  Ooer  the  Bocki/  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

all ;  and  out  of  it — from  a  seed  no  doubt 
imbedded  in  the  bark — had  sprung  a  tree 
that  is  to-day  as  great  in  girth  as  the  log 
that  lies  prostrate  beneath  its  roots. 
These  mighty  roots  have  clasped  that  log 
in  an  everlasting  embrace  and  struck 
down  into  the  soil  below.  You  can  con- 
jecture how  long  the  log  has  been  lying 
there  in  that  tangle  of  mighty  roots — yet 
the  log  is  to-day  as  sound  a  bit  of  timber 
as  one  is  likely  to  find  anywhere. 

Alaska  is  buried  under  forests  like 
these  —  I  mean  that  part  of  it  which  is 
not  still  cased  in  ice  and  snow.  A  late 
official  gave  me  out  of  his  cabinet  a  relic 
of  the  past.  It  is  a  stone  pestle,  rudely 
but  symmetrically  hewn,  —  evidently  the 
work  of  the  aborigines.  This  pestle,  with 
several  stone  implements  of  domestic 
utility,  was  discovered  by  a  party  of  pro- 
spectors who  had  dug  under  the  roots  of 
a  giant  tree.  Eleven  feet  beneath  the 
surface,  directly  under  the  tree  and  sur- 
rounded by  gigantic  roots,  this  pestle, 
and  some  others  of  a  similar  character, 
together  with  mortars  and  various  uten- 
sils, were  scattered  through  the  soil.  Most 
of  the  collection  went  to  the  Smithsonian 
Institute,  and  perhaps  their  origin  and 
history  may  be  some  day  conjectured. 


Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  135 

How  many  ages  more,  I  wonder,  will  be 
required  to  develop  the  resources  of  this 
vast  out-of-door  country? 

When  the  tardy  darkness  fell  upon 
Sitka — toward  midnight — the  town  was 
hardly  more  silent  than  it  had  been 
throughout  the  day.  A  few  hghts  were 
twinkling  in  distant  windows ;  a  few  In- 
dians were  prowling  about;  the  water 
rippled  along  the  winding  shore;  and 
from  time  to  time  as  the  fresh  gusts  blew 
in  from  the  sea,  some  sleepless  bird  sailed 
over  us  on  shadowy  wings,  and  uttered 
a  half-smothered  cry  that  startled  the 
listener.  Then,  indeed,  old  Sitka,  which 
was  once  called  New  Archangel,  seemed 
but  a  relic  of  the  past,  whose  vague, 
romantic  history  will  probably  never  be 
fully  known. 


Chapter  XIII. 
Katalan's  Rock 

TZ'ATALAN'S  EOCK  towers  above  the 
sea  at  the  top  corner  of  Sitka.  Be- 
low it,  on  the  one  hand,  the  ancient 
colonial  houses  are  scattered  down  the 
shore  among  green  lawns  like  pasture 
lands,  and  beside  grass-grown  streets  with 
a  trail  of  dust  in  the  middle  of  them.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  Siwash  Indian  lodges 
are  clustered  all  along  the  beach.  This 
rancheria  was  originally  separated  from 
the  town  by  a  high  stockade,  and  the  huge 
gates  were  closed  at  night  for  the  greater 
security  of  the  inhabitants ;  but  since  the 
American  occupation  the  gates  have  been 
destroyed,  and  only  a  portion  of  the 
stockade  remains. 

Katalan's  Rock  is  steep  enough  to  com- 
mand the  town,  and  ample  enough  to 
afford  all  the  space  necessary  for  fortifica- 
tions and  the  accommodation  of  troops 
and  stores.  A  natural  Gribraltar,  it  was 
(136) 


Over  the  Rocky  Moimtains  to  Alaska.  137 

the  site  of  the  first  settlement,  and  has 
ever  remained  the  most  conspicuous  and 
distinguished  quarter  of  the  colony.  The 
first  building  erected  on  this  rock  was  a 
block-house,  which  was  afterward  burned. 
A  second  building,  reared  on  the  ruins  of 
the  first,  was  destroyed  by  an  earthquake ; 
but  a  third,  the  colonial  castle  and  resi- 
dence of  the  governors,  stands  to  this 
day.  It  crowns  the  summit  of  the  rock, 
is  one  hundred  and  forty  feet  in  length, 
seventy  feet  in  depth,  two  stories  with 
basement  and  attic,  and  has  a  lookout 
that  commands  one  of  the  most  romantic 
and  picturesque  combinations  of  land  and 
sea  imaginable. 

It  is  not  a  handsome  edifice,  nor  is  it 
in  the  least  like  a  castle,  nor  like  what 
one  supposes  a  castle  should  be.  Were 
it  anywhere  else,  it  might  pass  for  the 
country  residence  of  a  gentleman  of  the 
old  school,  or  for  an  unfashionable  sub- 
urban hotel,  or  for  a  provincial  seminary. 
It  is  built  of  solid  cedar  logs  that  seem 
destined  to  weather  the  storms  of  ages. 
These  logs  are  secured  by  innumerable 
copper  bolts ;  and  the  whole  structure  is 
riveted  to  the  rocks,  so  that  neither  wind 
nor  wave  nor  earthquake  shock  is  likely 
to  prevail  against  it. 


138  Over  the  BocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

Handsomely  finished  within,  it  was  in 
the  colonial  days  richly  furnished ;  and  as 
Sitka  was  at  that  time  a  large  settlement 
composed  of  wealthy  and  highbred  Rus- 
sians, governed  by  a  prince  or  a  baron 
whose  petty  court  was  made  up  of  the 
representatives  of  the  rank  and  fashions 
of  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow,  the  colonial 
castle  was  most  of  the  time  the  scene  of 
social  splendor. 

The  fame  of  the  brilliant  and  beautiful 
Baroness  Wrangell,  first  chatelaine  of  the 
castle,  lives  after  her.  She  was  succeeded 
by  the  wife  of  Grovernor  Kupreanoff,  a 
brave  lady,  who  in  1835  crossed  Siberia 
on  horseback  to  Behring  Sea  on  her  way 
to  Sitka.  Later  the  Princess  Maksontoff 
became  the  social  queen,  and  reigned  in 
the  little  castle  on  Katalan's  Rock  as 
never  queen  reigned  before.  A  flagship 
was  anchored  under  the  windows,  and  the 
proud  Admiral  spent  much  of  his  time 
on  shore.  The  officers'  clubhouse,  yonder 
down  the  grassy  street,  was  the  favorite 
lounging  place  of  the  navy.  The  tea- 
gardens  have  run  to  seed,  and  the  race- 
course is  obliterated,  where,  doubtless, 
fair  ladies  and  brave  men  disported  them- 
selves in  the  interminable  twilights  of  the 
Alaskan  summer.     In  the  reign  of  the 


Over  the  BocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska.  139 

Princess  Maksontoff  the  ladies  were  first 
shown  to  the  sideboard.  When  they  had 
regaled  themselves  with  potent  punch 
and  ca^^are,  the  gentlemen  followed  suit. 
But  the  big  brazen  samovar  was  forever 
steaming  in  the  grand  salon,  and  delicious 
draughts  of  caravan  tea  were  in  order  at 
all  hours. 

What  days  they  were,  when  the  castle 
was  thronged  with  guests,  and  those  of 
all  ages  and  descriptions  and  from  every 
rank  in  and  out  of  society!  The  presi- 
dential levee  is  not  more  democratic  than 
were  the  f^tes  of  the  Princess  Maksontoff . 
To  the  music  of  the  Admiral's  band  com- 
bined with  the  castle  orchestra,  it  was 
''all  hands  round."  The  Prince  danced 
with  each  and  every  lady  in  turn.  The 
Princess  was  no  less  gracious,  for  all 
danced  with  her  who  chose,  from  the 
Lord  High  Admiral  to  midshipmite  and 
the  crew  of  the  captain's  gig. 

You  will  read  of  these  things  in  the 
pages  of  Lutka,  Sir  George  Simpson,  Sir 
Edward  Belcher,  and  other  early  voyagers. 
They  vouch  for  the  unique  charm  of  the 
colonial  life  at  that  day.  Washington 
Irving,  in  his  ''Astoria,"  has  something 
to  say  of  New  Archangel  (Michael),  or 
"Sheetka,"  as  he  spells  it;  but  it  is  of  the 


140  Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

time  when  the  ships  of  John  Jacob  Astor 
were  touching  in  that  \icinity,  and  the 
reports  are  not  so  pleasing. 

While  social  life  in  the  little  colony  was 
still  more  enjoyable,  a  change  came  that 
in  a  single  hour  reversed  the  order  of 
affairs.  For  years  Russia  had  been  "svill- 
ing,  if  not  eager,  to  dispose  of  the  great 
lands  that  lay  along  the  northwestern 
coast  of  America.  She  seemed  never  to 
have  cared  much  for  them,  nor  to  have 
believed  much  in  their  present  value  or 
possible  future  development.  No  enter- 
prise was  evinced  among  the  people: 
they  were  comparative  exiles,  who  sought 
to  relieve  the  monotony  of  their  existence 
by  one  constant  round  of  gaity.  Soirees 
at  the  castle,  tea-garden  parties,  picnics 
upon  the  thousand  lovely  isles  that  beau- 
tify the  Sitkan  Sea;  strolls  among  the 
sylvan  retreats  in  which  the  primeval 
forest,  at  the  very  edge  of  the  town, 
abounds;  fishing  and  hunting  expedi- 
tions, music,  dancing,  lively  conversation, 
strong  punch,  caviare  and  the  steaming 
samovar, — those  were  the  chief  diversions 
with  which  noble  and  serf  alike  sought  to 
lighten  the  burden  of  the  day. 

While  Russia  was  willing  to  part  with 
the  lone  land   on   the   Pacific,    she  was 


Over  the  Mochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.  141 

determined  that  it  should  not  pass  into 
the  hands  of  certain  of  the  powers  for 
whom  she  had  httle  or  no  love.  Hence 
there  was  time  for  the  United  States  to 
consider  the  question  of  a  purchase  and 
to  haggle  a  little  over  the  price.  For 
years  the  bargain  hung  in  the  balance. 
When  it  was  finally  settled,  it  was  settled 
so  suddenly  that  the  witnesses  had  to  be 
wakened  and  called  out  of  ther  beds. 
They  assembled  secretly,  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  as  if  they  were  conspirators; 
and  before  sunrise  the  whole  matter  was 
fixed  forever. 

On  the  18th  of  October,  1867,  three 
United  States  ships  of  war  anchored  off 
Katalan's  Rock.  These  were  the  Ossipee, 
the  Jamestown  and  the  Resaca.  In  the 
afternoon,  at  half-past  three  o'clock,  the 
terrace  before  the  castle  was  surrounded 
by  United  States  troops,  Russian  soldiers, 
officials,  citizens  and  Indians.  The  town 
was  alive  with  Russian  bunting,  and  the 
ships  aflutter  with  Stars  and  Stripes  and 
streamers.  There  was  something  ominous 
in  the  air  and  in  the  sunshine.  Bang! 
went  the  guns  from  the  Ossipee,  and  the 
Russian  flag  slowly  descended  from  the 
lofty  staff  on  the  castle;  but  the  wind 
caught  it  and  twisted  it  round  and  round 


142  Over  the  BocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

the  staff,  and  it  was  long  before  a  boat- 
swain's chair  couid  be  rigged  to  the 
halyards,  and  some  one  hauled  up  to  dis- 
entangle the  rebellious  banner. 

Meanwhile  the  rain  began  to  fall,  and 
the  Princess  Maksontoff  was  in  tears.  It 
was  a  dismal  hour  for  the  proud  court  of 
the  doughty  governor.  The  Russian  water 
battery  was  firing  a  salute  from  the  dock 
as  the  Stars  and  Stripes  were  climbing  to 
the  skies  —  the  great  continent  of  icy 
peaks  and  pine  was  passing  from  the 
hands  of  one  nation  to  the  other.  In  the 
silence  that  ensued.  Captain  Pestehouroff 
stepped  forward  and  said:  ^'By  authority 
of  his  Majesty  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  I 
transfer  to  the  United  States  the  Territory 
of  Alaska."  The  prince  governor  then 
surrendered  his  insignia  of  office,  and  the 
thing  was  done.  In  a  few  months'  time 
fifty  ships  and  four  hundred  people  had 
deserted  Sitka;  and  to-day  but  three 
famiUes  of  pure  Russian  blood  remain. 
Perhaps  the  fault-finding  which  followed 
this  remarkable  acquisition  of  territory 
on  the  part  of  the  United  States  govern- 
ment— -both  the  acquisition  and  the  fault- 
finding were  on  the  part  of  our  govern- 
ment —  had  best  be  left  unmentioned. 
Now  that  the  glorious  waters  of  that  mag- 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  143 

nificent  archipelago  have  become  the 
resort  of  summer  tourists,  every  man, 
woman  and  child  can  see  for  his,  her  and 
its  self ;  and  this  is  the  only  way  in  which 
to  convince  an  American  of  anything. 

Thirty  years  ago  Sitka  was  what  I  have 
attempted  to  describe  above.  To-day  how 
different !  Passing  its  barracks  at  the  foot 
of  Katalan's  Rock,  one  sees  a  handful  of 
marines  looking  decidedly  bored  if  off 
duty.  The  steps  that  lead  up  to  the  steep 
incline  of  the  rock  to  the  castle  terrace 
are  fast  falling  to  decay.  Weeds  and 
rank  grass  trail  over  them  and  cover  the 
whole  top  of  the  rock.  The  castle  has 
been  dismantled.  The  walls  will  stand 
until  they  are  blown  up  or  torn  down, 
but  all  traces  of  the  original  ornamenta- 
tion of  the  interior  have  disappeared. 
The  carved  balustrades,  the  curious  locks, 
knobs,  hinges,  chandeliers,  and  fragments 
of  the  wainscoting,  have  been  borne  away 
by  enterprising  curio  hunters.  There  was 
positively  nothing  left  for  me  to  take. 

One  may  still  see  the  chamber  occupied 
by  Secretary  Seward,  who  closed  the  bar- 
gain with  the  Russian  Government  at 
$7,200,000,  cash  down.  Lady  Franklin 
occupied  that  chamber  when  she  was 
scouring  these  waters  in  the  fearless  and 


144  Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

indefatigable,  but  fruitless,  search  for  the 
relics  of  the  lost  Sir  John .  One  handsome 
apartment  has  been  partially  restored 
and  suitably  furnished  for  the  use  of  the 
United  States  District  Attorney.  Two 
rooms  on  the  groundfloor  are  occupied 
by  the  signal  officers;  but  the  rest  of  the 
building  is  in  a  shameful  condition,  and 
only  its  traditions  remain  to  make  it  an 
object  of  interest  to  every  stranger  guest. 

It  is  said  that  twice  in  the  year,  at  the 
dead  hour  of  the  night,  the  ghost  of  a 
bride  wanders  sorrowfully  from  room  to 
room.  She  was  the  daughter  of  one  of 
the  old  governors  —  a  stern  parent,  who 
forced  her  into  a  marriage  without  love. 
On  the  bridal  eve,  while  all  the  guests 
were  assembled,  and  the  bride,  in  wedding 
garments,  was  the  centre  of  attraction, 
she  suddenly  disappeared.  After  a  long 
search  her  body  was  found  in  one  of  the 
apartments  of  the  castle,  but  life  was  ex- 
tinct. At  Eastertide  the  shade  of  this  sad 
body  makes  the  round  of  the  deserted 
halls,  and  in  passing  leaves  after  it  a  faint 
odor  of  wild  roses. 

The  basement  is  half  filled  with  old 
rubbish.  I  found  rooms  where  an  amateur 
minstrel  entertainment  had  been  given. 
Rude  lettering  upon  the  walls  recorded 


Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.  145 

the  fact  in  lampblack,  and  a  monster 
hand  pointed  with  index  finger  to  its 
temporary  bar,  Bnrnt-cork  cUhris  was 
scattered  about,  and  there  were  ''old 
soldiers"  enough  on  the  premises  to  have 
quite  staggered  a  moralist.  The  Muscovite 
reign  is  over.  The  Princess  is  in  her  grave 
on  the  hill  yonder, — a  grave  that  was  for- 
gotten for  a  time  and  lost  in  the  jungle 
that  has  overgrown  the  old  Russian 
cemetery.  The  Indians  mutilated  that 
tomb;  but  Lieutenant  Gilman,  in  charge 
of  the  marines  attached  to  the  Adams, 
restored  it;  and  he,  with  his  men,  did 
much  toward  preserving  Sitka  from  going 
to  the  dogs. 

Gone  are  the  good  old  days,  but  the 
Americanized  Sitka  does  not  propose  to 
be  behind  the  times.  I  discovered  a  thea- 
tre. It  was  in  one  of  the  original  Rus- 
sian houses,  doomed  to  last  forever  —  a 
long,  narrow  hall,  with  a  stage  at  the 
upper  end  of  it.  A  few  scenes,  evidently 
painted  on  the  spot  and  in  dire  distress ; 
a  drop-curtain  depicting  an  utterly  im- 
practicable roseate  ice-gorge  in  the  ideal 
Alaska,  and  four  footlights,  constituted 
the  sum  total  of  the  properties.  The  stage 
was  six  feet  deep,  about  ten  feet  broad, 
and  the  ''flies"  hung  like  "bangs"  above 


146  Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

the  foreheads  of  the  players.  In  the  next 
room,  convenient  in  case  of  a  panic,  was 
the  Sitka  fire  department,  consisting  of 
a  machine  of  one-man-power,  which  a 
small  boy  might  work  without  endanger- 
ing anybody  or  anything. 

Suburban  Sitka  is  sweet  and  sad.  One 
passes  on  the  way  to  the  wildwood,  where 
everybody  goes  as  often  as  may  be,  —  a 
so-called '  'blarney  stone. ' '  Many  a  fellow 
has  chipped  away  at  that  stone  while  he 
chatted  with  his  girl  —  I  suppose  that  is 
where  the  blarney  comes  in, — and  left  his 
name  or  initials  for  a  sacred  memor5\ 
There  are  dull  old  Eussian  hieroglyphs 
there  likewise.  Love  is  alike  in  all  lan- 
guages, you  know.  The  truth  about  the 
stone  is  merely  this:  it  is  a  big  soft  stone 
by  the  sea,  and  of  just  the  right  height  to 
rest  a  weary  pilgrim.  There  old  Baranoff, 
the  first  governor,  used  to  sit  of  a  sum- 
mer afternoon  and  sip  his  Russian  brandy 
until  he  was  as  senseless  as  the  stone  be- 
neath him;  and  then  he  was  carried  in 
state  up  to  the  colonial  castle  and  suffered 
to  sober  off. 

Beyond  the  stone,  and  the  curving 
beach  with  the  grass-grown  highway 
skirting  it,  is  the  forest ;  and  through  this 
forest  is  the  lovers'  lane,  made  long  ago 


Over  the  BocJcy  Mountains  to  Alaska.  147 

by  the  early  colonists  and  kept  in  perfect 
trim  by  the  latest,  —  a  lane  that  is  green- 
arched  overhead  and  fern-walled  on  either 
side,  and  soft  with  the  dust  of  dead  pine 
boughs  underfoot.  There  also  are  streams 
and  waterfalls  and  rustic  bridges  such  as 
one  might  look  for  in  some  stately  park 
in  England,  but  hardly  in  Alaska.  Surely 
there  is  no  bit  of  wilderness  finer  than 
this.  All  is  sweet  and  grave  and  silent, 
save  for  the  ripple  of  waters  and  the 
sighing  of  winds. 

As  for  the  Siwash  village  on  the  other 
side  of  Sitka,  it  is  a  Siwash  village  over 
again.  How  soon  one  wearies  of  them! 
But  one  ought  never  to  weary  of  the  glori- 
ous sea  isles  and  the  overshadowing 
mountains  that  lie  on  every  side  of  the 
quaint,  half- barbarous  capital.  Though 
it  is  dead  to  the  core  and  beginning  to 
show  the  signs  of  death,  it  is  one  of  the 
dreamiest  spots  on  earth,  and  just  the  one 
for  long  summer  solitude, — at  least  so  we 
all  thought,  for  on  the  morrow  we  were 
homeward  bound 


Chaptee  XIV. 

From  the  Far  North. 

CITKA  is  the  turning-point  in  the 
Alaskan  summer  cruise.  It  is  the 
beginning  of  the  end ;  and  I  am  more  than 
half  inclined  to  think  that  in  most  cases — 
charming  as  the  voyage  is  and  unique  in 
its  way  beyond  any  other  voyage  within 
reach  of  the  summer  tourist — the  voyager 
is  glad  of  it.  One  never  gets  over  the 
longing  for  some  intelligence  from  the 
outer  world ;  never  quite  becomes  accus- 
tomed to  the  lonely,  far-away  feeling  that 
at  times  is  a  little  paiuful  and  often  is  a 
bore. 

During  the  last  hours  at  Sitka,  Mount 
Edgecombe  loomed  up  gloriously,  and 
reminded  one  of  Fugjyamma.  It  is  a  very 
handsome  and  a  highly  ornamental  moun- 
tain. So  are  the  islands  that  lie  between 
it  and  the  Sitkan  shore  handsome  and 
ornamental,  but  there  are  far  too  many  of 
them.  The  picture  is  overcrowded,  and 
in  this  respect  is  as  unlike  the  Bay  of 
(148) 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  149 

Naples  as  possible ;  though  some  writers 
have  compared  them,  and  of  course,  as  is 
usual  in  cases  of  comparison,  to  the  dis- 
advantage of  the  latter. 

Leaving  Sitka,  we  ran  out  to  sea.  It 
was  much  easier  to  do  this  than  go  a  long 
way  round  among  the  islands;  and,  as 
the  weather  was  fair,  the  short  cut  was 
delightful.  We  rocked  like  a  cradle  — 
the  Ancon  rocks  like  a  cradle  on  the 
slightest  provocation.  The  sea  sparkled, 
the  wavelets  leaped  and  clapped  their 
hands.  Once  in  awhile  a  plume  of  spray 
was  blown  over  the  bow,  and  the  delicate 
stomach  recoiled  upon  itself  suggestively ; 
but  the  deliciousness  of  the  air  in  the 
open  sea  and  the  brevity  of  the  cruise  — 
we  were  but  five  or  six  hours  outside  — 
kept  us  in  a  state  of  intense  delight. 
Presently  we  ran  back  into  the  maze  of 
fiords  and  land-locked  lakes,  and  resumed 
the  same  old  round  of  daily  and  nightly 
experiences. 

Juneau,  Douglas  Island,  FortWrangell, 
and  several  fishing  stations  were  revisited. 
They  seemed  a  little  stale  to  us,  and  we 
were  inclined  to  snub  them  slightly.  Of 
course  we  thought  we  knew  it  all — most 
of  us  knew  as  much  as  we  cared  to  know ; 
and  so  we   strolled   leisurely  about  the 


150  Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

solemn  little  settlements,  and,  no  doubt, 
but  poorly  succeeded  in  disguising  the 
superior  air  which  distinguishes  the  new 
arrival  in  a  strange  land.  It  is  but  a  step 
from  a  state  of  absolute  greenness  on  one's 
arrival  at  a  new  port  to  a  hlas^  languor, 
wherein  nothing  can  touch  one  further ; 
and  the  step  is  easily  and  usually  taken 
inside  of  a  week.  May  the  old  settlers 
forgive  us  our  idiocy ! 

There  was  a  rainy  afternoon  at  Fort 
Wrangell,  —  a  very  proper  background, 
for  the  place  is  dismal  to  a  degree.  An 
old  stern- wheel  steamboat,  beached  in  the 
edge  of  the  village,  was  used  as  a  hotel 
during  the  decline  of  the  gold  fever ;  but 
Irhile  the  fever  was  at  its  height  the  boat 
iS  said  to  have  cleared  $135,000  per  season. 
The  coolie  has  bored  into  its  hollow  shell 
and  washes  there,  clad  in  a  semi-Boy  ton 
suit  of  waterproof. 

I  made  my  way  through  the  dense 
drizzle  to  the  Indian  village  at  the  far  end 
of  the  town.  The  untrodden  streets  are 
grass-grown ;  and  a  number  of  the  little 
houses,  gray  with  weather  stains,  are  de- 
serted and  falling  to  decay.  Reaching  a 
point  of  land  that  ran  out  and  lost  itself 
in  mist,  I  found  a  few  Indians  smoking 
and  steaming,  as  they  sat  in  the  damp 
sand  by  their  csnoes. 


Over  the  Bocky  Mounta'ms  to  AlasJca.  151 

A  long  footbridge  spans  a  strip  of  tide 
land.  I  ventured  to  cross  it,  though  it 
looked  as  if  it  would  blow  away  in  the 
first  gust  of  wind.  It  was  a  long,  long 
bridge,  about  broad  enough  for  a  single 
passenger ;  yet  I  was  met  in  the  middle  of 
it  by  a  well-blanketed  squaw,  bound  in- 
land. It  was  a  question  in  my  mind 
whether-  it  were  better  to  run  and  leap 
lightly  over  her,  since  we  must  pass  on  a 
single  rail,  or  to  lie  down  and  allow  her  to 
climb  over  me.  0  happy  inspiration !  In 
the  mist  and  the  rain,  in  the  midst  of  that 
airy  path,  high  above  the  mud  flats,  and 
with  the  sullen  tide  slowly  sweeping  in 
from  the  gray  wastes  beyond  the  capes,  I 
seized  my  partner  convulsively,  and  with 
our  toes  together  we  swung  as  on  a  pivot 
and  went  our  ways  rejoicing. 

The  bridge  led  to  the  door  of  a  chief's 
house,  and  the  door  stood  open.  It  was  a 
large,  square  house,  of  one  room  only,  and 
with  the  floor  sunk  to  the  depth  of  three 
feet  in  the  centre.  It  was  like  looking 
into  a  dry  swimming  bath.  A  step,  or 
terrace,  on  the  four  sides  of  the  room 
made  the  decent  easy,  and  I  descended. 
The  chief,  in  a  cast-off  military  jacket, 
gave  me  welcome  with  a  mouthful  of  low 
gutterals.     I  found  a  good  stove  in  the 


152  Over  the  Bocky  fountains  to  Alaska. 

lodge  and  several  comfortable-looking 
beds,  with  chintz  curtains  and  an  Oriental 
superabundance  of  pillows.  A  few  photo- 
graphs in  cheap  frames  adorned  the  walls ; 
a  few  flaming  chromos — Crucifixions  and 
the  like — hung  there,  along  with  fathoms 
of  fishnet,  clusters  of  fishhooks,  paddles, 
kitchen  furniture,  wearing  apparel,  and  a 
blunderbuss  or  two.  Four  huge  totem 
poles,  or  ponderous  carvings,  supported 
the  heavy  beams  of  the  roof  in  the  man- 
ner of  caryatides.  These  figures,  half 
veiled  in  shadow,  were  most  impressive, 
and  gave  a  kind  of  Egyptian  solemnity  to 
the  dimly  lighted  apartment. 

The  chief  was  not  alone.  His  man 
Friday  was  with  him,  and  together  we  sat 
and  smoked  in  a  silence  that  was  almost 
suffocating.  It  fairly  snapped  once  or 
twice,  it  was  so  dense;  and  then  we  three 
exchanged  grave  smiles  and  puffed  away 
in  great  contentment.  The  interview  was 
brought  to  a  sudden  close  by  the  chief's 
making  me  a  very  earnest  offer  of  $6  for 
my  much-admired  gum  ulster,  and  I  re- 
fusing it  with  scorn— for  it  was  still  rain- 
ing. So  we  parted  coldly,  and  I  once 
more  walked  the  giddy  bridge  with  fear 
and  trembling ;  for  I  am  not  a  sunambu- 
list,  who  alone  might  perform  there  with 
impunity. 


Over  tlie  Rochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.  153 

It  was  a  bad  day  for  curios.     The  town 
had  been  sacked  on  the  voyage  up ;  yet  I 
prowled    in  these   quarters,   where   one 
would  least  expect  to  find  treasure,  inas- 
much as  it  is  mostly  found  just  there. 
Presently  the  most  hideous  of  faces  was 
turned  up  at  me  from  the  threshold  of  a 
humble  lodge.     It  was  of  a  dead  green 
color,  with   blood  trimmings;   the  nose 
beaked  like  a  parrot's,  the  mouth  a  gap- 
ing crescent ;  the  eyeless  sockets  seemed 
to  sparkle  and  bhnk  with  inner  eyes  set 
in  the  back  of  the  skull ;  murderous  scalp 
locks  streamed  over  the  ill-shapen  brow ; 
and  from  the  depths  of  this  monstrosity 
some  one,  or  something,  said,   "Boo!" 
I  sprang  backward,  only  to  hear  the  gurgle 
of  baby  laughter,  and  see  the  wee  face  of 
an  half-Indian  cherub  peering  from  be- 
hind the  mask.     Well,  that  mask  is  mine 
now ;  and  whenever  I  look  at  it  I  think  of 
the  faUing  dusk  in  Fort  Wrangell,  and  of 
the  child  on  all-fours  who  startled  me  on 
my  return  from  the  chief's  house  beyond 
the  bridge,  and  who  cried  as  if  her  little 
heart  would  break  when  I  paid  for  her 
plaything  and  cruelly  bore  it  away. 

Some  of  the  happiest  hours  of  the 
voyage  were  the  "wee  sma'  "  ones,  when 
I  lounged  about  the  deserted  deck  mth 


154  Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

Captain  George,  the  pilot.  A  gentleman 
of  vast  experience  and  great  reser\^e,  for 
years  he  has  haunted  that  archipelago; 
he  knows  it  in  the  dark,  and  it  was  his 
nightly  duty  to  pace  the  deck  while  the 
ship  was  almost  as  still  as  death.  He  has 
heard  the  great  singers  of  the  past,  the 
queens  of  song  whose  voices  were  long 
since  hushed.  We  talked  of  these  in  the 
vast  silence  of  the  Alaskan  night,  and  of 
the  literature  of  the  sea,  and  especially 
of  that  solitary  northwestern  sea,  while 
we  picked  our  way  among  the  unpeopled 
islands  that  crowded  all  about  us. 

On  such  a  night,  while  we  were  chatting 
in  low  voices  as  we  leaned  over  the  quar- 
ter-rail, and  the  few  figures  that  still 
haunted  the  deck  were  Hke  veritable 
ghosts.  Captain  George  seized  me  by  the 
arm  and  exclaimed:  ''Look  there!"  I 
looked  up  into  the  northern  sky.  There 
was  not  a  cloud  visible  in  all  that  wide 
expanse,  but  something  more  filmly  than 
a  cloud  floated  like  a  banner  among  the 
stars.  It  might  almost  have  been  a  cob- 
web stretched  from  star  to  star  —  each 
strand  woven  from  a  star  beam,  —  but  it 
was  ever  changing  in  form  and  color. 
Now  it  was  scarf-like,  fluttering  and  wav- 
ing in  a  gentle  breeze ;  and  now  it  hung 


Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.  155 

motionless — a  deep  fringe  of  lace  gathered 
in  ample  folds.  Anon  it  opened  suddenlj- 
from  the  horizon,  and  spread  in  panels 
like  a  fan  that  filled  the  heavens.  As  it 
opened  and  shut  and  swayed  to  and  fro 
as  if  it  were  a  fan  in  motion,  it  assumed 
in  turn  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  but 
with  a  delicacy  of  tint  and  texture  even 
beyond  that  of  the  rainbow.  Sometimes 
it  was  like  a  series  of  transparencies  — 
shadow  pictures  thrown  upon  the  screen 
of  heaven ,  lit  by  a  light  beyond  it  —  the 
mysterious  light  we  know  not  of.  That  is 
what  the  pilot  and  I  saw  while  most  of 
the  passengers  were  sleeping.  It  was  the 
veritable  aurora  horialis,  and  that  alone 
were  worth  the  trip  to  Alaska. 

One  day  we  came  to  Fort  Tongass  —  a 
port  of  entry,  and  our  last  port  in  the 
great,  lone  land  —  for  all  the  way  down 
through  the  British  possessions  we  touch 
no  land  until  we  reach  Victoria  or  Nanai- 
mo.  Tongass  was  once  a  military  post, 
and  now  has  the  unmistakable  air  of  a 
desert  island.  Some  of  us  were  not  at  all 
eager  to  go  on  shore.  You  see,  we  were 
beginning  to  get  our  fill  of  this  monoton- 
ous out-of-the-world  and  out-of-the-waj^ 
life.  Yet  Tongass  is  unique,  and  certainly 
has    the   most  interesting  collection   of 


156  Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

totem  poles  that  one  is  likely  to  see  on 
the  voyage.  At  Tongass  there  is  a  little 
curbing  beach,  where  the  ripples  sparkle 
among  the  pebbles.  Beyond  the  beach 
is  a  strip  of  green  lawn,  and  at  the  top  of 
the  lawn  the  old  officers'  quarters,  now 
falling  to  decay.  For  background  there 
are  rocks  and  trees  and  the  sea.  The  sea 
is  everywhere  about  Tongass,  and  the  sea- 
breezes  blow  briskly,  and  the  sea-gulls 
waddle  about  the  lawn  and  sit  in  rows 
upon  the  sagging  roofs  as  if  they  were 
thoroughly  domesticated.  Oh,  what  a 
droll  place  it  is ! 

After  a  little  deliberation  we  all  went 
ashore  in  several  huge  boat-loads;  and, 
to  our  surprise,  were  welcomed  by  a 
charming  young  bride  in  white  muslin 
and  ribbons  of  baby-blue.  Somehow  she 
had  found  her  way  to  the  desert  island — 
or  did  she  spring  up  there  like  a  wild 
flower?  And  the  grace  with  which  she 
did  the  honors  was  the  subject  of  un- 
bounded praise  during  the  remainder  of 
the  voyage. 

This  pretty  Bret  Harte  heroine,  with 
all  of  the  charms  and  ^drtues  and  none  of 
the  vices  of  his  camp-followers,  led  us 
through  the  jagged  rocks  of  the  dilapi- 
dated quarters,  down  among  the  spray- 


Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.  157 

wet  rocks  on  the  other  side  of  the  island, 
and  all  along  the  dreary  waste  that  fronts 
the  Indian  village.  Oh,  how  dreary  that 
waste  is!  —  the  rocks,  black  and  barren, 
and  scattered  far  into  the  frothing  sea; 
the  sandy  path  along  the  front  of  the  In- 
dian lodges,  with  rank  grass  shaking  and 
shivering  in  the  wind;  the  solemn  and 
grim  array  of  totem  poles  standing  in 
front  or  at  the  sides  of  the  weather-stained 
lodges — and  the  whole  place  deserted.  I 
know  not  where  the  Indians  had  gone, 
but  they  were  not  there  —  save  a  sick 
squaw  or  two.  Probably,  being  fisher- 
men, the  tribe  had  gone  out  with  their 
canoes,  and  were  now  busy  with  the  spoils 
somewhere  among  the  thousand  passages 
of  the  archipelago. 

The  totem  poles  at  Tongass  are  richly 
carved,  brilUantly  colored,  and  grotesque 
in  the  extreme.  Some  of  the  lodges  were 
roomy  but  sad-looking,  and  with  a  per- 
petual shade  hovering  through  them .  We 
found  inscriptions  in  English  —  very 
rudely  lettered  —  on  many  of  the  lodges 
and  totem  poles:  ''In  memory  of "  some 
one  or  another  chief  or  notable  redman. 
Over  one  door  was  this  inscription:  "In 

memory  of ,  who  died  by  his  own 

hand."     The    lodge  door  was  fastened 


158  Over  the  Bocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

with  a  rusty  padlock,  and  the  place  looked 
ghoulish. 

I  think  we  were  all  glad  to  get  out  of 
Tongass,  though  we  received  our  best 
welcome  there.  At  any  rate,  we  sat  on 
the  beach  and  got  our  feet  wet  and  our 
pockets  full  of  sand  waiting  for  the  delib- 
erate but  dead-sure  boatmen  to  row  us  to 
the  ship.  When  we  steamed  away  we  left 
the  little  bride  in  her  desert  island  to  the 
serene  and  sacred  joy  of  her  honeymoon, 
hoping  that  long  before  it  had  begun  to 
wane  she  might  return  to  the  world ;  for 
in  three  brief  weeks  we  were  beginning  to 
lust  after  it.  That  evening  we  anchored 
in  a  well- wooded  cove  and  took  on  several 
lighter-loads  of  salmon  casks.  Captain 
Carroll  and  the  best  shots  in  the  ship 
passed  the  time  in  shooting  at  a  barrel 
floating  three  hundred  yards  distant.  So 
ran  our  little  world  away,  as  we  were 
homeward  bound  and  rapidly  nearing  the 
end  of  the  voyage. 


Chapter  XV. 

Out  of  the   Arctic. 

Ty  HEN  Captain  Cook — who,  with  Cap- 
tain Kidd,  nearly  monopohzes  the 
young  ladies'  ideal  romance  of  the  seas — 
was  in  these  waters,  he  asked  the  natives 
what  land  it  was  that  lay  about  them,  and 
they  replied:  '^Alaska" — great  land.  It 
is  a  great  land,  lying  loosely  along  the 
northwest  coast, — great  in  area,  great  in 
the  magnitude  and  beauty  of  its  forests 
and  in  the  f  ruitf  ulness  of  its  many  waters ; 
great  in  the  splendor  of  its  ice  fields ;  the 
majesty  of  its  rivers,  the  magnificence  of 
its  snow-clad  peaks ;  great  also  in  its  pos- 
sibilities, and  greatest  of  all  in  its  measure- 
less wealth  of  gold. 

In  the  good  old  days  of  the  Muscovite 
reign  —  1811,  —  Grovernor  Baranoff  sent 
Alexander  Kuskoff  to  establish  a  settle- 
ment in  California  where  grain  and  vege- 
tables might  be  raised  for  the  Sitka  mar- 
ket. The  ruins  of  Fort  Ross  are  all  that 
remain  to  tell  the  tale  of  that  interprise. 
(159) 


160  Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

The  Sitkan  of  to-day  manages  to  till  a 
kitchen-garden  that  suffices;  but  his 
wants  are  few,  and  then  he  can  always 
fall  back  on  canned  provision  if  his  fresh 
food  fails. 

The  stagnation  of  life  in  Alaska  is  all 
but  inconceivable.  The  summer  tourist 
can  hardly  realize  it,  because  he  brings  to 
the  settlement  the  only  variety  it  knows ; 
and  this  comes  so  seldom — once  or  twice 
a  month — that  the  population  arises  as  a 
man  and  rejoices  so  long  as  the  steamer 
is  in  port.  Please  to  picture  this  people 
after  the  excitement  is  over,  quietly  sub- 
siding into  a  comatose  state,  and  remain- 
ing in  it  until  the  next  boat  heaves  in 
sight.  One  feeds  one's  self  mechanically ; 
takes  one's  constitutional  along  the  shore 
or  over  one  of  the  goat-paths  that  strike 
inland;  nodding  now  and  again  to  the 
familiar  faces  that  seem  never  to  change 
in  expression  except  during  tourist's 
hours ;  and  then  repairs  to  that  bed  which 
is  the  salvation  of  the  solitary,  for  sleep 
and  obli\ion  are  the  good  angels  that 
brood  over  it.  In  summer  the  brief 
night — barely  forty  winks  in  length — is 
so  silvery  and  so  soft  that  it  is  a  delight 
to  sit  up  in  it  even  if  one  is  alone.  Lights 
and  shadows  play  with  one  another,  and 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  161 

are  reflected  in  sea  and  sky  until  the  eye 
is  almost  dazzled  with  the  loveliness  of 
the  scene.  I  believe  if  I  were  banished 
to  Alaska  I  would  sleep  in  the  daytime — 
say  from  8  a.  m.  to  5  p.  m.,  —  and  revel 
in  the  wakeful  beauty  of  the  other  hours. 
But  the  winter,  and  the  endless  night 
of  winter !  — when  the  sun  sinks  to  rest  in 
discouragement  at  three  or  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  and  rises  with  a  faint 
heart  and  a  pale  face  at  ten  or  eleven  in 
the  forenoon;  when  even  high  noon  is 
unworthy  of  the  name  —  for  the  dull  lu- 
minary, having  barely  got  above  the  fence 
at  twelve  o'clock,  backs  out  of  it  and 
sinks  again  into  the  blackness  of  darkness 
one  is  destined  to  endure  for  at  least  two 
thirds  of  the  four  and  twenty !  Since  the 
moon  is  no  more  obliging  to  the  Alaskans 
than  the  sun  is,  what  is  a  poor  fellow  to 
dof  He  can  watch  the  aurora  until  his 
eyes  ache ;  he  can  sit  over  a  game  of  cards 
and  a  glass  of  toddy — he  can  always  get 
the  latter  up  there ;  he  can  trim  his  lamp 
and  chat  with  his  chums  and  fill  his  pipe 
over  and  over  again.  But  the  night 
thickens  and  the  time  begins  to  lag;  he 
looks  at  his  watch,  to  find  it  is  only  9  p. 
m.,  and  there  are  twelve  hours  between 
him  and  daylight.     It  is  a  great  land  in 


162  Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

which  to  store  one's  mind  with  knowledge, 
provided  one  has  the  books  at  hand  and 
good  eyes  and  a  lamp  that  won't  flicker 
or  smoke.  Yet  why  should  I  worry  about 
this  when  there  are  people  who  live 
through  it  and  like  it?  —  or  at  least  they 
say  they  do. 

In  my  mind's  eye  I  see  the  Alaska  of 
the  future — and  the  not  far-distant  future. 
Among  the  most  beautiful  of  the  islands 
there  mil  be  fine  openings;  lawns  and 
flowers  will  carpet  the  slopes  from  the 
dark  walls  of  the  forest  to  the  water's 
edge.  In  the  midst  of  these  favored  spots 
summer  hotels  will  throw  wide  their 
glorious  windows  upon  vistas  that  are  like 
glimpses  of  fairy  land.  Along  the  beach 
numerous  skiffs  await  those  who  are 
weary  of  towns ;  steam  launches  are  there, 
and  small  barges  for  the  transportation 
of  picnic  parties  to  undiscovered  islands 
in  the  dim  distance.  Sloop  yachts  with 
the  more  adventurous  will  go  forth  on 
voyages  of  exploration  and  discovery, 
two  or  three  days  in  length,  under  the 
guidance  of  stolid,  thoroughbred  Indian 
pilots.  There  may  be  an  occasional  wreck, 
mth  narrow  escapes  from  the  watery 
grave  —  let  us  hope  so,  for  the  sake  of 
variety.     There  will  be    fishing  parties 


Over  the  Rochj  Mountains  to  Alaska.  163 

galore,  and  camping  on  foreign  shores, 
and  eagle  hunts,  and  the  delights  of  the 
chase ;  with  Indian  retinues  and  Chinese 
cooks,  and  the  "swell  toggery"  that  is 
the  chief,  if  not  the  only,  charm  of  that 
sort  of  thing.  There  will  be  circulating 
libraries  in  each  hotel,  and  grand  pianos, 
and  private  theatricals,  and  nightly  hops 
that  may  last  indefinitely,  or  at  least  until 
sunrise,  without  shocking  the  most  pru- 
dent; for  day  breaks  at  2  a.  m. 

There  will  be  visits  from  one  hotel  to 
the  other,  and  sea-voyages  to  dear  old 
Sitka,  where  the  Glrand  Hotel  will  be 
located;  and  there  will  be  the  regular 
weekly  or  semi-weekly  boat  to  the  Muir 
glacier,  with  professional  guides  to  the  top 
of  it,  and  all  the  necessary  traps  furnished 
on  board  if  desired.  And  this  wild  life 
can  begin  as  early  as  April  and  go  on  until 
the  end  of  September  without  serious  in- 
jury. There  will  be  no  hay  fever  or 
prickly-heat;  neither  will  there  be  sun- 
strokes nor  any  of  the  horrors  of  the 
Eastern  and  Southern  summer.  It  will 
remain  true  to  its  promise  of  sweet,  warm 
days,  and  deliciously  cool  evenings,  in 
which  the  young  lover  may  woo  his  fair 
to  the  greatest  advantage ;  for  there  is  no 
night  there.     Then  everyone  will  come 


164  Over  Die  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

home  with  a  new  experience,  which  is  the 
best  thing  one  can  come  home  with,  and 
the  rarest  nowadays ;  and  with  a  pocket- 
ful of  Alaskan  garnets,  which  are  about 
the  worst  he  can  come  home  with,  being 
as  they  are  utterly  valueless,  and  unhand- 
some even  when  they  are  beautifully 
symmetrical. 

Oh,  the  memory  of  the  voyage,  which 
is  perhaps  the  most  precious  of  all! — this 
we  bring  home  \Yith  us  forever.  The 
memory  of  all  that  is  half  civilized  and 
wholly  unique  and  uncommon :  of  sleepy 
and  smoky  wigwams,  where  the  ten  tribes 
hold  powwow  in  a  confusion  of  gutturals, 
with  a  plentiful  mixture  of  saliva ;  for  it  is 
a  moist  language,  a  gurgle  that  approaches 
a  gargle,  and  in  three  weeks  the  unaccus- 
tomed ear  scarcely  recovers  from  the  first 
shock  of  it ;  a  memory  of  totem  poles  in 
stark  array,  and  of  the  high  feast  in  the 
Indian  villages,  where  the  beauty  and 
chivalry  of  the  forest  gathered  and  squat- 
ted in  wide  circles  listening  to  some  old- 
man-eloquent  in  the  very  ecstacy  of  ex- 
pectoration; the  memory  of  a  non-com- 
mitting, uncommunicative  race,  whose 
religion  is  a  feeble  polj^theism — a  kind  of 
demonolatry;  for,  as  good  spirits  do  not 
injure  one,  one's  whole  time  is  given  to 


Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska.  165 

the  propitiation  of  the  evil.  This  is  called 
Shamanism,  and  is  said  to  have  been  the 
religion  of  the  Tartar  race  before  the  in- 
troduction of  Buddhism,  and  is  still  the 
creed  of  the  Siberians;  a  memory  of 
solitary  canoes  on  moonlit  seas  and  of 
spicy  pine  odors  mingled  with  the  tonic 
of  moist  kelp  and  salt-sea  air. 

A  memory  of  friends  who  were  alto- 
gether charming,  of  a  festival  without  a 
flaw.  0  my  kind  readers!  when  the 
Alaska  Summer  Hotel  Company  has 
stocked  the  nooks  and  corners  of  the 
archipelago  with  caravansaries,  and  good 
boats  are  filling  them  with  guests  who  go 
to  spend  the  season  in  the  far  Northwest, 
fail  not  to  see  that  you  are  numbered 
among  the  elect ;  for  Alaska  outrivers  all 
rivers  and  out-lakes  all  lakes — being  itself 
a  lake  of  ten  thousand  islands;  it  out- 
mountains  the  Alps  of  America,  and  cer- 
tainly outdoes  everything  else  everywhere 
else,  in  the  shape  of  a  watering  place. 
And  when  you  have  returned  from  there, 
after  two  or  three  months'  absence  from 
the  world  and  its  weariness,  you  will  be- 
gin to  find  that  your  '^tum-tum  is  white" 
for  the  first  time  since  your  baptismal 
day,  and  that  you  have  gained  enough  in 
strength  and  energy  to  topple  the  totem 


166  Over  the  Rocky  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

pole  of  your  enemy  without  shedding  a 
feather.  There  is  hope  for  Alaska  in  the 
line  of  a  summer  resort. 

As  ghosts  scent  the  morning  air  and 
are  dispersed,  so  we  scented  the  air, 
which  actually  seemed  more  familiar  as 
we  approached  Washington  in  the  great 
Northwest;  and  the  spirit  of  peace,  of 
ease  and  of  lazy  contentment  that  had 
possessed  our  souls  for  three  weeks  took 
flight.  It  was  now  but  a  day's  sail  to 
Victoria,  and  yet  we  began  to  think  we 
would  never  get  there. 

We  were  hungry  for  news  of  the  world 
which  we  had  well-nigh  forgotten.  Three 
weeks !  It  seemed  to  us  that  in  this  little 
while  cities  might  have  been  destroyed, 
governments  overthrown,  new  islands 
upheaved  and  old  ones  swallowed  out  of 
sight.  Then  we  were  all  expecting  to  find 
heaps  of  letters  from  everybody  awaiting 
us  at  Victoria  or  Port  Townsend,  and  our 
mouths  fairly  watered  for  news. 

We  took  a  little  run  into  the  sea  and 
got  lost  in  a  fog ;  but  t-he  pilot  whistled 
for  the  landmarks,  and  Echo  answered ; 
so  that  by  the  time  the  fog  was  ready  to 
roll  away,  like  a  snowy  drop-curtain,  we 
knew  just  where  we  were,  and  ran  quietly 
into  a  nook  that  looked  as  if  it  would  fit 


Over  the  Bochy  Mountains  to  Alaska.  167 

us  like  a  bootjack.  The  atmosphere  grew 
smoky;  forest  fires  painted  the  sky  with 
burnt  umber,  and  through  this  veil  the 
sun  shone  like  a  copper  shield.  Then  a 
gorgeous  moonlight  followed.  There  was 
blood  upon  that  moon,  and  all  the  shores 
were  like  veins  in  moss-agate  and  the  sea 
like  oil.  We  wound  in  and  out,  in  and 
out,  among  dreamy  islands ;  touched  for  a 
little  while  at  Nanaimo,  where  we  should 
have  taken  in  a  cargo  of  coal  for  Portland, 
whither  the  Ancon  ^rs  bound;  but  Cap- 
tain Carroll  kindly  put  us  all  ashore  first 
and  then  returned  for  his  freight. 

We  hated  to  sleep  that  night,  and  did 
not  sleep  very  much.  But  when  we 
awakened  it  was  uncommonly  quiet ;  and 
upon  going  on  deck — lo !  we  were  at  Vic- 
toria. What  a  quiet,  pretty  spot!  What 
a  restful  and  temperate  climate!  What 
jutting  shores,  soft  hills,  fine  drives,  old- 
countrified  houses  and  porters'  lodges 
and  cottages,  with  homely  flowers  in  the 
door-yards  and  homely  people  in  the 
doors ! — homely  I  mean  in  the  handsomest 
sense,  for  I  can  not  imagine  the  artificial 
long  survives  in  that  community. 

How  dear  to  us  seemed  civilization 
after  our  wanderings  in  the  wilderness ! 
We    bought  newspapers    and  devoured 


168  Over  the  Bochj  Mountains  to  Alaska. 

them ;  ran  in  and  out  of  shops  just  for  the 
fun  of  it  and  because  our  hberty  was  so 
dear  to  us  then.  News?  We  were  fairly- 
staggered  with  the  abundance  of  it,  and 
exchanged  it  with  one  another  in  the  most 
fraternal  fashion,  sharing  our  joys  and 
sorrows  with  the  whole  ship's  company. 
And  deaths!  What  a  lot  of  these,  and 
how  startling  when  they  come  so  unex- 
pectedly and  in  such  numbers !  Why  is 
it,  I  wonder,  that  so  many  people  die 
when  we  are  away  somewhere  beyond 
reach  of  communication? 

But  enough  of  this.  A  few  jolly  hours 
on  shore,  a  few  drives  in  the  suburbs  and 
strolls  in  the  town,  and  we  headed  for 
Port  Townsend  and  the  United  States, 
where  we  parted  company  with  the  good 
old  ship  that  carried  us  safely  to  and  fro. 
And  there  we  ended  the  Alaskan  voyage 
gladly  enough,  but  not  without  regret; 
for,  though  uneventful,  I  can  truly  say  it 
was  one  of  the  pleasantest  voyages  of  my 
life ;  and  one  that  —  thanks  to  every  one 
who  shared  it  with  me  —  I  shall  ever 
remember  with  unalloyed  delight. 


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STAMPED  BELOW. 


Series  9482 


AA    000  879  287 


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\ 


i*=t7f/ 


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